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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  George  Papasbvily 


NORSTON'S    REST 


BY 


MRS.  AM  S.  STEPHENS. 

AUTHOR  OP  "BERTHA'S  ENGAGEMENT,"  "  FASHION  AND  FAMINE,"  "MABEL'S  MISTAKE,' 

THE     OLD     COUNTESS,"     "RUBY     GRAY'S     STRATEGY,"    "THE     REIGNING     BELLE," 

"LORD  HOPE'S  CHOICE,"  "MARRIED  IN  HASTE,"  "THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS," 

"WIVES     AND     WIDOWS;     OR,    THE     BROKEN     LIFE,"     "MARY    DERWENT," 

"THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD,"  "A  NOBLEWOMAN,"  "THE  CURSE  OF  GOLD," 

"THE  GOLD  BRICK,"  "DOUBLY  FALSE,"  "  PALACES  AND  PRISONS,'' 

"THE  HEIRKSS,"  "SILENT  STRUGGLES,"  "REJECTED  WIFE," 

"  BELLEHOOD    AND  BONDAGE,"    "  WIFE'S   SECRET." 


Why  did  he  love  her?    Ask  the  passing  breeze 

Wliy  it  has  left  the  lilies  in  their  bloom— 
The  great  white  blossoms  of  magnolia  trees, 

And  jasmine  flowers,  that  kindle  up  the  gloom, 
Of  Southern  woods,  where  the  vast  live  oak  grows, 
And  mocking  birds  sing  love  notes  to  the  rose. 
Ask  why  it  turned  from  these  and  lowly  flew 
To  kiss  the  purple  violets  in  their  dew. 

Yes,  ask  the  breezes  ; — love  is  like  to  them 

In  the  free  poising  of  his  restless  wing. 

Sometimes  he  searches  for  a  priceless  gem, 

Rut  often  takes  a  pebble  from  the  spring. 
To  his  veiled  eyes  the  humble,  pebble  shines 
Bright  as  a  jewel  from  Golconda's  mines. 
Expect  no  answer  why  love  chooses  so — 
His  reasons  are  as  vague  as  winds  that  blow. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS; 

306   CHESTNUT  STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1877,  by 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 

MRS.  AM  S.  STEPHENS'  WORKS. 

Each  work  is  complete  in  one  volume,  12mo. 
HOUSTON'S  REST. 

BERTHA'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

BELLEHOOD  AND  BONDAGE;  or,  Bought  With  A  Price. 
LORD  HOPE'S  CHOICE;  or,  More  Secrets  Than  One. 

THE  OLD  COUNTESS.    Sequel  to  Lord  Hope's  Choice. 
A  NOBLE   WOMAN;  or,  A  Gulf  Between  Them. 

PALACES  AND  PRISONS;  or,  The  Prisoner  of  the  Bastile. 
WIVES  AND   WIDOWS;  or,  The  Broken  Life. 
RUBY  GRAY'S  STRATEGY;  or,  Married  By  Mistake. 

FASHION  AND  FAMINE. 

THE  CURSE  OF  GOLD;  or,  The  Bound  Girl  and  Wife's  Trials. 
MABEL'S  MISTAKE;  or,  The  Lost  Jewels. 
SILENT  STRUGGLES;  or,  Barbara  Stafford. 
THE   WIFE'S  SECRET;  or,  Gillian. 

THE  HEIRESS;  or,  The  Gipsy's  Legacy. 
THE  REJECTED   WIFE ;  or,  The  Ruling  Passion. 

THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD;  or,  The  Pet  From  the  Poor  House. 
DOUBLY  FALSE ;  or,  Alike  and  Not  Alike. 

THE  REIGNING  BELLE. 
MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS. 
MAR  Y  DER  WENT. 

THE  GOLD  BRICK. 
Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  Cloth ;  or  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.     Copies  of  any  one 
or  all  of  the  above  books,  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place, 
postage  pre-paid,  on  receipt  of  their  price  by  the  Publishers, 
T.  B.  PETERSON   &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 

GIFT 


- 


TO 
MRS,    GEN.    WILLIAM    LESLIE    CAZNEAU, 

OF 

KIETH  HALL,  JAMAICA,  W.  I, 

ONE   OF 

THE  OLDEST  AND  DEAREST  FRIENDS  THAT  I  HAVE, 

THIS  BOOK: 
IS  MOST  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 

ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 
NEW  YORK,  May  31,  1877. 


015 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAOE 

I.— GATHERING  OF  THE  HUNT 25 

II.— THE  HILL-SIDE  HOUSE 31 

III. — WAITING  AND  WATCHING 42 

IV. — THE  SON'S  RETURN 49 

V.— CONFESSING  HIS  LOVE 56 

VI. — CONFESSIONS  OF   LOVE 60 

VII.— JUDITH 65 

VIII.— WAITING  FOR  HIM 71 

IX.— THE   NEXT  NEIGHBOR 75 

X.— JEALOUS  PASSIONS 83 

XI.— PROTEST    AND    APPEAL 92 

XII.— THE  HEART  STRUGGLE 96 

XIII.— ONE  RASH  STEP 102 

XIV.— ON  THE   WAY   HOME 107 

XV. — THE  LADY  ROSE Ill 

XVI. — ALONE  IN  THE  COTTAGE 116 

XVH.— A  STORMY  ENCOUNTER 120 

XVIII.— AN    ENCOUNTER 128 

XIX.— FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER 132 

XX.— THE  TWO  THAT   LOVED  HIM 141 

(21) 


22  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI.— BOTH  HUSBAND  AND  FATHER 146 

XXII.— WAS  IT  LIFE  OR  DEATH  ? 151 

XXIII.— BETWEEN  LIFE  AND  DEATH 157 

XXIV.— A  FATHER'S  MISGIVING 164 

XXV.— THE  BIRD  AND  THE  SERPENT 170 

XXVI.— TRUE  AS  STEEL 175 

XXVII.— A  CRUEL   DESERTION 180 

xxviii.— THE  WIFE'S  VISIT 186 

XXIX.— BY  MY  MOTHER   IN   HEAVEN 193 

XXX.— THE  BARMAID  OF  THE  TWO  RAVENS 198 

XXXI.— THE  OLD  LAKE    HOUSE 207 

XXXII.— THE   NEW   LEASE 215 

XXXIII. — SHARPER  THAN  A  SERPENT'S  TOOTH 220 

XXXIV.— THE  SICK   MAN  WHITES  A  LETTER 228 

XXXV. — WITH    THE   HOUSEKEEPER 232 

XXXVI.— UNDER  THE  IVY 237 

XXXVII.— A  STORM  AT  THE  TWO  RAVENS 243 

XXX VIII.— A   PRESENT   FROM  THE  FAIR 246 

XXXIX.— A    WILD-FLOWER   OFFERING 251 

XL. — SEEKING  A   PLACE 257 

XLI.— THE  FATHER'S  SICK-ROOM 264 

XLII.— PROFFERED   SERVICES 269 

XLIII. — THE  LOST  LETTER 274 

XLI v. — THE  HOUSEKEEPER'S  VISIT 277 

XLV.— EXCELLENT    ADVICE 286 

XLVI. — THE  SERPENT  IN  HER   PATH 291 

XLVII.— NIGHT  ON  THE  BALCONY 298 

XLVIII.— WATCHING  HER  RIVAL 301 

XLIX.— BROODING  THOUGHTS 309 


CONTENTS.  23 

CHAPTER  PAQB 

L.— YOUNG  HURST  AND  LADY  ROSE 312 

LI.— THE  GODMOTHER'S  MISTAKE 318 

LII.  —SITTING  AT   THE  WINDOW 323 

Lm.— DEATH 329 

LIV.— THE  GARDENER'S  FUNERAL 336 

LV.— SEARCHING  A  HOUSE ...    339 

LVI. — A  MOTHER'S  HOPEFULNESS 343 

LVII.— WAITING  AT  THE  LAKE  HOUSE 347 

LVIII. — SIR  NOEL'S  VISITOR 353 

LIX.— PLEADING   FOR   DELAY 358 

LX.— LOVE   AND  HATE 364 

LXI.— HUNTED  DOWN 367 

LXII. — STORMS  AND   LADY  ROSE 372 

LXIII. — THE   PRICE  OF  A  LIFE 377 

LXI V.— JUDITH'S  RETURN 382 

LXV.— ON  THE  PRECIPICE 387 

LXVI.— SIR  NOEL  AND  RUTH 392 

LXVH.— SHOWING  THE  WAY 398 

LX VIII.— FORSAKING  HER  HOME 404 

LXIX.— THE  SOUL'S  DANGER 408 

LXX.— ON    THE   TRAIN 411 

LXXI. — THE  SPIDER'S  WEB 416 

LXXII.— THE  MARRIAGE   CERTIFICATE 425 

LXXIII.— SEARCHING  THE  LAKE  HOUSE 429 

LXXIV.— COMING  HOME 437 


NORSTON'S    BEST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GATHERING    OF    THE     HUNT. 

~TN  the  highest  grounds  of  a  park,  almost  an  estate 
-*-  in  itself,  stood  one  of  those  noble  old  mansions  that 
are  so  interwoven  with  the  history  of  mother  England, 
that  their  architecture  alone  is  'a  record  of  national 
stability  and  ever-increasing  civilization,  written  out  in 
the  strength  of  stone  and  the  beauty  of  sculpture.  This 
building,  however  grand  in  historical  associations,  was 
more  especially  the  monument  of  one  proud  race,  the 
Hursts  of  "  Norston's  Best." 

Generation  after  generation  the  Hursts  had  succeeded 
in  unbroken  descent  to  "  The  Rest "  and  its  vast  estates 
since  the  first  foundation  stone  was  laid,  and  that  was  so 
long  ago  that  its  present  incumbent,  Sir  Noel  Hurst, 
would  have  smiled  in  derision  had  the  Queen  offered 
to  exchange  his  title  for  that  of  a  modern  duke. 

Sir  Noel  might  well  be  proud  of  his  residence,  which, 
like  its  owners,  had  kept  pace  with  the  progress  of  art 
and  the  discoveries  of  science  known  to  the  passing 
generations;  for  each  had  contributed  something  to  its 

(25) 


26  N CUSTOM'S   BEST. 

gradual  construction,  since  the  first  rough  tower  was  built 
with  the  drawbridge  and  battlements  of  feudal  times,  to 
the  present  imposing  structure,  where  sheets  of  plate  glass 
took  the  place  of  arrow  slits,  and  the  lace-work  of  sculp 
ture  was  frozen  into  stone  upon  its  walls. 

This  glorious  old  park,  like  the  mansion  it  surrounded, 
brought  much  of  its  antique  beauty  from  the  dead  ages. 
Druid  stones  were  to  be  found  beneath  its  hoary  old 
oaks.  Its  outer  verge  was  wild  as  an  American  forest, 
and  there  one  small  lake  of  deep  and  inky  blackness 
scarcely  felt  a  gleam  of  sunshine  from  month  to  month. 
But  nearer  the  old  mansion  this  wilderness  was  turned 
into  an  Eden :  lawns  of  velvet  grass — groves  where  the 
sunshine  shone  through  the  bolls  of  the  trees,  turning  the 
grass  under  them  to  gold — lakes  starred  half  the  summer 
with  the  snow  of  water-lilies — rose  gardens  that  gave 
a  rare  sweetness  to  the  passing  wind — shadowy  bridle 
paths  and  crystal  streams  spanned  by  stone  bridges — all 
might  be  seen  or  guessed  at  from  the  broad  terrace  that 
fronted  the  mansion. 

Here  all  was  light  gayety  and  pleasant  confusion. 
Sir  Noel  had  many  guests  in  the  house,  and  they  were 
all  out  upon  the  terrace,  forming  a  picture  of  English 
life  such  as  no  country  on  earth  can  exhibit  with  equal 
perfection. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  the  hunt,  and  the  gay  inmates 
of  the  house  were  out  in  the  bright  freshness  of  the 
morning,  prepared  for  a  glorious  run  with  the  hounds. 
The  gentlemen  brilliant  in  scarlet,  the  ladies  half  rival 
ling  them  in  masculine  hats,  but  softening  the  effect  with 
gossamer  veils  wound  scarf-like  around  them,  and  a 
graceful  flow  of  dark  drapery. 

Beneath,  breaking  up  the  gravel  of  the  carriage  road 


GATHERING     OF    THE     HUNT.  27 

with  many  an  impatient  hoof,  was  a  crowd  of  grooms 
holding;  slender-limbed  horses,  whose  coats  shone  like 

o  7 

satin,  when  the  sun  touched  them,  while  their  hoofs  smote 
the  gravel  like  the  restless  feet  of  gipsy  dancing-girls 
when  a  thrill  of  music  stirs  the  blood. 

Further  on  keepers  were  scattered  about,  some  looking 
admiringly  at  the  brilliant  picture  before  them,  others 
holding  back  fiery  young  dogs,  wild  for  a  run  with  their 
companions  of  the  kennel. 

Gradually  the  light  laughter  and  cheerful  badinage 
passing  on  the  terrace  died  into  the  silence  of  expecta 
tion.  The  party  was  evidently  incomplete.  Sir  Noel 
was  there  in  his  usual  dress,  speaking  with  polite  com 
posure,  but  casting  an  anxious  look  now  and  then  into 
the  open  doors  of  the  hall. 

Some  fair  lady  was  evidently  waited  for  who  was 
to  ride  the  chestnut  horse  drawn  up  nearest  the  steps, 
where  he  was  tossing  his  head  with  an  impatience  that 
half  lifted  the  groom  from  his  feet  when  he  attempted 
to  restrain  the  reckless  action. 

It  was  the  Lady  Rose,  a  distant  relative  of  Sir  Noel's, 
who  had  been  her  guardian  from  childhood,  and  now 
delighted  to  consider  her  mistress  of  "  The  Rest,"  a  posi 
tion  he  fondly  hoped  she  might  fill  for  life. 

Sir  Noel  came  forward  as  she  appeared,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  the  two  stood  together,  contrasted  by  years,  but 
alike  in  the  embodiment  of  patrician  elegance.  She  in 
the  bloom  and  loveliness  of  her  youth:  he  in  that  ex 
quisite  refinement  which  had  been  his  inheritance 
through  a  long  line  of  cultivated  and  honorable  ancestry. 
Turning  from  Sir  Noel,  Lady  Rose  apologized  to  his 
guests,  and  with  a  winning  smile,  besought  their  forgive 
ness  for  her  tardy  appearance. 


28 

That  moment  a  young  man,  who  had  been  giving  some 
orders  to  the  grooms,  came  up  the  steps  and  approached 
the  lady. 

"Have  you  become  impatient?"  she  said,  blushing  a 
little.  u  I  am  so  grieved ! " 

The  young  man  smiled,  as  he  gave  her  a  fitting  answer. 
Then  you  saw  at  once  the  relationship  that  he  held  with 
Sir  Noel.  It  was  evident,  not  only  in  the  finely  cut 
features,  but  in  the  dignified  quietude  of  manner  that 
marked  them  both. 

"  Mack  has  no  idea  of  good  breeding,  and  is  getting 
fiercely  impatient,"  he  said,  glancing  down  at  the  chest 
nut  horse. 

Lady  Rose  cast  a  bright  smile  upon  her  guests. 

"  Ladies,  do  not  let  me  keep  you  waiting." 

There  was  a  general  movement  toward  the  steps,  but 
the  young  lady  turned  to  Sir  Noel  again. 

"  Dear  uncle,  I  wish  you  were  going.  I  remember 
you  in  hunting-dress  when  I  was  a  little  girl." 

"But  I  have  grown  old  since  then,"  answered  the 
baronet,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  This  is  my  first  day,  and  I  shall  be  almost  afraid 
without  you,"  she  pleaded. 

The  baronet  smiled,  shook  his  head,  and  glanced  at 
his  son. 

"  You  will  have  younger  and  better  care,"  he  said. 

The  young  man  understood  this  as  a  request  that  he 
should  take  especial  care  of  his  cousin,  for  such  the  lady* 
was  in  a  remote  degree,  and  for  an  instant  seemed  to 
hesitate.  Lady  Rose  saw  this,  and,  with  a  hot  flush  on 
her  face,  ran  down  the  steps. 

Young  Hurst  was  by  her  side  in  a  second,  but  she 
sprang  to  the  saddle,  scarcely  touching  his  proffered  hand 


GATHERING    OF    THE     HUNT.  29 

with  her  foot ;  then  wheeled  the  chestnut  on  one  side, 
and  waited  for  the  rest  to  mount. 

Down  came  the  party,  filling  the  broad  stairway  with 
shifting  colors,  chatting,  laughing,  and  occasionally 
giving  out  little  affected  screams,  as  one  fell  short  of  the 
saddle,  or  endangered  her  seat  by  a  too  vigorous  leap ; 
but  all  this  only  added  glee  to  the  occasion,  and  a  gayer 
party  than  that  never  left  the  portal  of  "Norston's 
Rest"  even  in  the  good  old  hawking  days  of  long  ago. 

Young  Hurst  took  his  place  by  the  side  of  Lady  Rose, 
and  was  about  to  lead  the  cavalcade  down  the  broad 
avenue,  which  swept  through  more  than  a  mile  of  the 
park  before  it  reached  the  principal  entrance  gate,  but 
instantly  there  arose  a  clamor  of  feminine  opposition. 

"  Not  that  way !  It  would  lead  them  in  the  wrong 
direction  ;  let  them  take  a  run  through  the  park.  They 
would  have  rougher  riding  than  that  before  the  day  was 
over." 

Young  Hurst  seemed  disturbed  by  this  proposal ;  he 
even  ventured  to  expostulate  with  his  father's  guests. 
"  The  park  was  rough  in  places,"  he  said,  "  and  the  side 
entrance  narrow  for  so  large  a  party." 

His  argument  was  answered  by  a  merry  laugh.  The 
ladies  turned  their  horses  defiantly,  and  a  cloud  of  red 
coats  followed  them.  Away  to  the  right  the  whole  cav 
alcade  took  its  way  where  the  sun  poured  its  golden 
streams  on  the  turf  under  the  trees,  or  scattered  itself 
among  the  leaves  of  the  hoary  old  oaks  that  in  places 
grew  dangerously  close  together. 

As  they  drew  toward  that  portion  of  the  park  known 
as  "The  Wilderness/'  a  wonderfully  pretty  picture  ar 
rested  the  swift  progress  of  the  party,  and  the  whole 
cavalcade  moved  more  slowly  as  it  came  opposite  a  small 


30  NORS TON'S    REST. 

rustic  cottage  of  stone,  old,  moss-grown,  and  picturesque, 
wherever  its  hoary  walls  could  be  seen,  through  masses 
of  ivy  and  climbing  roses.  One  oriel  window  was  dis 
covered  through  the  white  jasmine  that  clustered  around 
it,  and  the  verbenas,  heliotrope,  and  scarlet  geraniums 
that  crept  beneath  it  from  the  ground. 

The  vast  park,  in  whose  deepest  and  coolest  verdure 
this  little  dwelling  stood,  was  like  a  world  in  itself;  but 
through  the  noble  old  trees  the  stately  mansion-house 
they  had  left  could  be  seen  in  glimpses  from  this  more 
humble  dwelling.  This  stood  on  the  edge  of  a  ravine, 
left  in  all  its  ferny  wildness,  through  which  a  stream 
of  crystal  water  leaped  and  sparkled,  and  sent  back  soft 
liquid  murmurs,  as  it  flowed  down  in  shadows,  or  leaped 
in  bright  cascades  to  a  lake  that  lay  in  the  wildest  and 
lowest  depths  of  the  park,  as  yet  invisible.  Young  Hurst 
had  urged  his  horse  forward  when  he  came  in  sight  of 
this  wood-nest,  and  an  angry  flush  swept  over  his  face 
when  the  party  slackened  its  speed  to  a  walk,  and  for  an 
instant  stopped  altogether,  as  it  came  in  front  of  the 
rustic  porch;  for  there,  as  if  startled  by  the  sudden  rush 
of  hoofs,  stood  a  young  girl,  framed  in  by  the  ivy  and 
jasmine.  She  had  one  foot  on  the  threshold  of  the 
door,  and  was  looking  back  over  her  left  shoulder,  as  if 
held  in  that  charming  attitude  by  a  sudden  impulse  of 
curiosity  while  she  was  retreating.  Two  or  three  ex 
clamations  broke  from  the  gentlemen,  who  were  taken  by 
surprise  by  this  beautiful  picture ;  for  in  her  pose,  in  the 
dark  frightened  eyes,  and  the  warm  coloring  of  face  and 
garments,  the  girl  was  a  wonder  of  picturesque  beauty. 

"Who  is  she?  Where  did  the  pretty  gipsy  come 
from  ?"  questioned  one  of  the  gentlemen  nearest  to  Hurst. 
"  Upon  my  word,  she  hardly  seems  real." 


THE     HILL-SIDE     HOUSE.  31 

'She  is  the  daughter  of  my  fathers  gardener,"  said 
Hurst,  lifting  his  hunting-cap  as  the  girl's  eyes  sought 
him  out  in  her  sudden  panic.  "  Shall  we  ride  on,  gen 
tlemen?  Our  presence  seems  to  disturb  her." 

"  Is  it  true  ?  Is  the  pretty  thing  only  a  gardener's 
child  ? "  questioned  one  of  the  ladies,  drawing  close  to 
Lady  Rose. 

"She  certainly  is  only  that,"  was  the  low,  almost 
forced  answer.  "  We  have  always  thought  her  pretty, 
and  she  is  certainly  good." 

Hurst  heard  this  and  turned  a  grateful  look  upon  the 
fair  girl.  She  saw  it,  and  for  an  instant  the  color  left 
her  face.  Then  she  touched  her  horse,  and  the  caval 
cade  dashed  after  her  through  the  depths  of  the  park  and 
into  the  open  country,  where  the  hounds  were  to  meet, 
all  feeling  in  a  different  way  that  there  was  some  mys 
tery  in  the  living  picture  they  had  admired. 


CHAPTER    II. ; 

THE     HILL-SIDE    HOUSE. 

AT  the  grand  entrance  of  the  park  a  young  man 
had  been  waiting  with  a  desperate  determination 
to  take  some  part  in  the  hunt,  though  he  was  well  aware 
that  his  presence  in  such  company  must  be  an  intrusion ; 
for  he  was  the  only  son  of  a  farmer  on  the  estate,  and 
had  just  received  education  enough  to  unfit  him  for  use 
fulness  in  his  own  sphere  of  life  and  render  his  presump 
tion  intolerable  to  those  above  him. 

He  had  not  ventured  on  a  full  hunting-suit,  but  wore 


32  NORSTON'S    REST. 

the  cap,  boots,  and  gloves  with  an  air  that  should,  he 
was  determined,  distinguish  him  from  any  of  the  grooms, 
and  perhaps  admit  him  into  the  outskirts  of  the  hunt,  if 
audacity  could  accomplish  nothing  more.  The  horse, 
which  he  sat  with  some  uneasiness,  had  been  pur 
chased  for  the  occasion  unknown  to  his  father,  who  had 
intrusted  the  selection  of  a  farm-horse  to  his  judgment, 
and  was  quite  ignorant  that  the  beast  had  been  taken 
out  for  any  other  purpose.  As  the  young  man  rode  this 
horse  up  and  down  in  sight  of  the  gate,  a  grooin  came 
through  and  answered,  when  questioned  about  the  hunt 
ing  party,  that  it  had  started  half  an  hour  before  across 
the  park. 

With  an  oath  at  the  time  he  had  lost,  young  Storms 
put  the  horse  to  his  speed  and  was  soon  in  the  open 
country,  but  the  animal,  though  a  good  one,  was  no  match 
for  the  full-blooded  action  for  which  Sir  Noel's  stables 
were  famous.  After  riding  across  the  country  for  an 
hour,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  wondering  what  course  the 
hunt  would  take,  the  horse  suddenly  lifted  his  ears, 
gathered  up  his  limbs,  and,  before  his  rider  could  guide 
the  movement,  leaped  a  low  wall  into  a  corn-field  and 
was  scouring  toward  some  broken  land  beyond,  when  a 
flash  of  darkness  shot  athwart  his  path,  and  the  fox, 
routed  from  his  covert,  dashed  across  the  field.  After 
it  came  the  dogs,  red-mouthed  with  yelping,  clearing  the 
hedges  with  scattered  leaps,  and  darting  swiftly,  as  shot 
arrows,  in  the  track  of  the  fox. 

After  them  came  the  hunt,  storming  across  the  field, 
over  walls  and  ditches,  and  winding  up  the  long  slope  of 
the  hill,  scattering  rays  of  scarlet  flame  as  it  went. 

The  rush  of  the  dogs,  the  desperate  speed  of  the  fox, 
maddened  Storms,  as  the  first  bay  of  the  hounds  had  in- 


THE     HILL -SIDE     HOUSE.  33 

spired  his  horse.     He  plunged  on  like  the  rest,  eager  and 
cruel  as  the  hounds.    For  once  he  would  be  in  at  the  death. 

Storms  had  done  some  rough  riding  in  preparation 
for  this  event,  but  he  lacked  the  cool  courage  that  aids  a 
horse  in  a  swift  race  or  dangerous  leap.  In  wild  excite 
ment  he  wheeled  and  made  a  dash  at  the  wall.  The 
horse  took  his  leap  bravely,  but  a  ditch  lay  on  the  other 
side,  and  he  fell  short,  hurling  his  rider  among  the  weeds 
and  brambles  that  had  concealed  its  depths. 

The  young  man  was  stunned  by  the  sudden  shock, 
and  lay  for  a  time  motionless  among  the  weeds  that 
had  probably  saved  his  life,  but  he  gathered  himself  up 
at  last  and  looked  around.  The  hunt  was  just  sweeping 
over  the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  half-way  up  its  face  his 
horse  was  following,  true  to  its  instincts. 

The  young  man  felt  too  giddy  for  anger,  and  for  a 
time  his  mind  was  confused ;  still  no  absolute  injury  had 
happened  to  him,  and  after  gathering  up  his  cap  and 
dusting  his  garments,  he  would  have  been  quite  ready  to 
mount  again,  and  saw  his  horse  go  over  the  hill  with  an 
oath  which  might  have  been  changed  to  blows  had  the 
beast  been  within  his  control. 

The  scenery  around  him  was  in  some 'respects  familiar, 
but  he  could  not  recognize  it  from  that  standpoint  or 
determine  how  far  he  was  from  home.  In  order  to 
make  himself  sure  of  this  he  mounted  the  hill,  from 
whence  he  could  command  a  view  of  the  country. 

A  lovely  prospect  broke  upon  the  young  man  when 
he  paused  to  survey  it :  below  him  lay  a  broad  valley, 
composed  of  a  fine  expanse  of  forest  and  farming  land, 
through  which  a  considerable  stream  sparkled  and  wound 
and  sent  its  huddling  crystal  through  green  hollows  and 
shady  places  till  its  course  was  lost  in  the  distance. 
2 


34  HOUSTON'S  BEST. 

This  river  Storms  knew  well.  It  passed  through  the 
"  Norston's  Rest"  estate,  but  that  was  so  broad  and  covered 
so  many  miles  in  extent  that  his  position  was  still  in  doubt. 

Storms  was  not  a  man  to  occupy  himself  with  scenery 
for  its  own  sake,  however  beautiful  or  grand ;  so,  after  a 
hurried  glance  around  him,  he  proceeded  to  mount 
higher  up  the  hill.  The  declivity  where  he  stood  sank 
down  to  the  river  so  gradually  that  several  houses  were 
built  on  its  slope,  and  most  of  the  land  was  under  some 
sort  of  cultivation.  The  nearest  of  these  houses  was  a 
low  structure,  old  and  dilapidated,  on  which  the  sunshine 
was  lying  with  pleasant  brightness.  If  nature  had  not 
been  so  bountiful  to  this  lovely  spot,  the  house  might 
have  been  set  down  as  absolutely  poverty-stricken,  but, 
years  before,  some  training  hand  had  so  guided  nature 
in  behalf  of  the  beautiful,  that  Time,  in  destroying, 
made  it  also  picturesque. 

Storms  observed  this  without  any  great  interest,  but 
he  had  attained  some  idea  of  thrift  on  his  father's  farm, 
and  saw,  with  contempt,  that  no  sign  of  plenty,  or  even 
comfort,  was  discernible  about  the  place.  It  was  a  broken 
picture — nothing  more ;  but  an  artist  would  have  longed 
to  sketch  the  old  place,  for  a  giant  walnut-tree  flung  its 
great  canopy  of  branches  over  the  roof,  and,  farther  down 
the  slope  of  the  hill,  a  moss-grown  old  apple  orchard, 
whose  gnarled  limbs  and  quivering  leaves  would  have 
driven  him  wild,  had  yielded  up  its  autumnal  fruit. 

There  was  a  low,  wide  porch  in  front  of  the  house, 
over  which  vines  of  scant  leafiness  and  bristling  with 
dead  twigs  crept  toward  the  thatched  roof.  The  walls 
about  the  house  were  broken  in  many  places,  and  left  in 
gaps,  through  which  currant  and  gooseberry-bushes  wound 
themselves  outward  in  green  masses. 


THE     HILL -SIDE     HOUSE  35 

At  the  end  of  this  enclosure  there  had  been  some  at 
tempts  at  gardening;  but  plenty  of  weeds  were  springing 
up  side  by  side  with  the  vegetables,  and  both  were  richly 
overtopped  in  irregular  spaces  by  clusters  of  thyme  that 
had  found  root  at  random  among  the  general  neglect. 

All  this  might  have  given  joy  to  a  man  of  aesthetic 
taste,  but  Storms  would  never  have  looked  at  it  a  second 
time  but  for  some  object  that  he  saw  flitting  through  the 
garden,  that  brightened  everything  around,  as  a  tropical 
bird  kindles  up  the  dense  foliage  of  a  jungle. 

It  was  a  young  girl,  with  a  good  deal  of  scarlet  in  her 
dress  and  a  silk  handkerchief  of  many  colors  knotted 
about  her  neck.  She  was  bareheaded,  and  the  sunshine 
striking  down  on  her  abundant  black  hair,  sifted  a  gleam 
of  purple  through  it,  rich  beyond  description. 

The  young  man  was  bewildered  by  this  sudden  appear 
ance,  and  stood  a  while  gazing  upon  it.  Then  his  face 
flushed  and  a  vivid  light  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  By  Jove,  there's  something  worth  looking  after 
here,"  he  said.  "  The  creature  moves  like  a  leopard, 
and  jumps — goodness,  how  she  does  jump  across  the 
beds  !  I  must  get  a  nearer  view." 

From  that  distance  it  was  difficult  to  judge  accurately 
of  the  girl's  face ;  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  easy 
sway  of  her  movements  or  the  picturesque  contrast  of 
her  warmly  hued  garments  with  the  leafy  shadows 
around  her. 

She  was  evidently  a  reckless  gardener,  for  half  the 
time  she  leaped  directly  into  the  vegetable  beds,  tread 
ing  down  the  shoots  that  were  tinging  them  with  de 
parting  greenness.  All  at  once  she  dropped  on  her  knees 
and  began  to  pull  up  some  beets,  from  which  she  vigor 
ously  shook  the  clinging  soil. 


36 

When  she  arose  with  her  handful  of  green  leaves  and 
roots,  Storms  became  conscious  that  the  old  house,  with 
all  its  proofs  of  neglect,  made  an  attractive  picture. 

"  I  will  ask  for  a  cup  of  milk  or  a  drink  of  water," 
he  thought ;  "  that  will  give  me  a  good  look  at  her  face/' 

The  old  house  was  half-way  down  the  hill,  along 
which  the  young  man  strolled.  The  gate  scraped  a  semi 
circle  in  the  earth  as  he  opened  it  and  made  for  the  porch, 
from  which  he  could  see  a  bare  hallway  and  a  vista 
through  the  back  door,  which  stood  open. 

A  gleam  of  color  which  now  and  then  fluttered  in 
view  led  the  young  man  on.  The  boards  creaked  under 
his  tread  as  he  went  down  the  hall  and  stood  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  door,  watching  the  girl  as  she  stooped 
by  the  well,  holding  her  garments  back  with  one  hand 
while  she  dashed  her  vegetables  up  and  down  in  a  pail 
of  water  which  she  had  j  list  poured  from  the  bucket. 

She  looked  up  suddenly,  and  something  that  lay  in 
those  large  black  eyes,  the  mobile  mouth,  the  bright  ex 
pression  fascinated  him.  She  was  picturesque,  and  just  a 
little  awkward  the  moment  she  became  conscious  that  a 
stranger  was  so  near  her. 

"  I  have  had  a  long  walk,  and  am  thirsty.  Will  you 
give  me  a  glass  of  water  or  a  cup  of  milk?"  he  said, 
moving  toward  the  well.  The  girl  dropped  her  beets 
into  the  pail,  and  stood  gazing  on  her  strange  visitor, 
half  shy,  half  belligerent.  At  last  she  spoke  : 

"The  cow  has  not  been  milked  this  morning,"  she 
said,  "  and  yesterday's  cream  has  not  been  skimmed ; 
but  here  is  water  in  the  bucket,  and  I  will  bring  a  cup 
from  the  house." 

"  Thank  you." 

She  was  gone  in  an  instant,  and  came  back  with  a 


THE     HILL-SIDE     HOUSE.  37 

tumbler  of  thick,  greenish  glass  in  her  hand,  which  she 
dipped  into  the  bucket  and  drew  out  with  the  water 
sparkling  like  diamonds  as  it  overflowed  the  glass. 

As  the  young  man  drank,  a  cow  that  had  been  pastur 
ing  in  the  orchard  thrust  its  head  over  the  wall  and 
lowed  piteously. 

The  young  man  smiled  as  he  took  the  glass  from  his 
lips. 

"  I  think  the  cow  yonder  would  be  much  happier  if  I 
had  a  cup  of  her  milk/'  he  said. 

"  Well,  if  you  must  have  it ! "  answered  the  girl,  dash 
ing  some  water  left  in  the  glass  on  the  stones  around  the 
well,  and,  with  a  careless  toss  of  the  head,  she  went  into 
the  kitchen  and  came  out  carrying  a  pail  in  one  hand  and 
an  earthen  mug  in  the  other. 

"  Shall  I  go  with  you  ? "  questioned  Storms,  holding 
out  his  hand  for  the  pail,  but  she  swung  it  out  of  his 
reach  and  went  down  the  empty  hall,  laughing  the 
encouragement  she  would  not  give  in  words. 

The  young  man  followed  her.  In  pushing  open  the 
gate  their  hands  met.  The  girl  started,  and  a  hot  blush 
swept  her  face. 

"  You  should  be  a  gentleman,"  she  said,  regarding  his 
dress  with  some  curiosity. 

Storms  blushed  crimson.  The  suggestion  flattered  him 
intensely. 

"Why  should  you  think  so?"  he  questioned. 

"Because  working  people  in  these  parts  never  dress 
like  that,  gloves  and  all!"  she  answered,  surveying 
him  from  head  to  foot  with  evident  admiration.  "A 
whole  crowd  of  them — ladies  too — went  by  just  now  with 
a  swarm  of  yelping  dogs  ahead,  and  a  little  fox,  scared 
half  to  death,  running  for  its  life.  Are  you  one  of  them  ?" 


38 

"  I  might  have  been,  only  the  brute  of  a  horse  made  a 
bolt  and  left  me  behind/7  said  Storms,  with  rising 
anger. 

"A  horse!  oh,  yes,  I  saw  one  limping  over  the  hill 
after  the  rest  went  out  of  sight.  Poor  fellow,  he  was 
lamed." 

"  I  hope  so,  the  brute,  for  he  has  given  me  a  long 
walk  home,  and  no  end  of  trouble  after,  I  dare  say ;  but 
if  it  hadn't  happened,  I  should  have  missed  seeing 
you." 

Again  the  girl  blushed,  but  carried  her  confusion  off 
with  a  toss  of  the  head. 

That  moment  the  cow,  impatient  for  notice,  came  up 
to  her,  lowing  softly,  and  dropping  foamy  grass  from 
her  mouth.  Usually  it  had  been  the  girl's  habit  to  plant 
her  foot  upon  the  grass  and  sit  upon  the  heel  as  she 
milked;  but  all  at  once  she  became  ashamed  of  this 
rough  method,  and  looked  around  for  something  to  sit 
upon.  The  garden  wall  had  broken  loose  in  places. 
The  young  man  brought  a  fragment  01*  rock  from  it  and 
dropped  it  on  the  ground. 

As  she  seated  herself,  slanting  the  pail  down  before 
her,  he  took  up  the  mug  from  the  grass  where  she  had 
dropped  it. 

"  I  must  have  my  pay  first,"  he  said,  stooping  down, 
and  holding  the  mug  to  be  filled. 

The  soft  sound  of  the  milk,  as  it  frothed  into  the  mug, 
was  overpowered  by  the  laughter  of  the  girl,  who  saucily 
turned  the  white  stream  on  his  hand. 

He  laughed  also,  and  shook  off  the  drops,  while  the 
foam  trembled  on  his  lips;  then  he  bent  down  again, 
asking  for  more.  Thus,  with  his  eyes  meeting  hers  if 
she  looked  up,  and  his  breath  floating  across  her  cheek, 


THE     HILL-SIDE     HOUSE.  39 

this  girl  went  on  with  her  task,  wondering  in  her  heart 
why  work  could  all  at  once  have  become  so  pleasant. 

"  There,"  she  said  at  last,  starting  up  from  her  hard 
seat,  "that  is  done.  Now  she  may  go  back  to  her 
pasture." 

As  if  she  understood  the  words,  that  mild  cow  walked 
slowly  away,  cropping  a  tuft  of  violets  that  grew  by  the 
stone  fence  as  she  went. 

Storms  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  pail. 

"Shall  I  help  you?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  answered,  turning  her  black 
eyes,  full  of  mischief,  upon  him.  "  I  can  do  very  well 
without." 

If  this  was  intended  for  a  rebuff,  the  young  man  would 
not  understand  it  as  such.  He  followed  her  into  the 
house,  without  waiting  for  an  invitation,  and  remained 
there  for  more  than  an  hour,  chatting  familiarly  with  the 
girl,  whose  rude  good-humor  had  particular  charms  for 
him. 

In  a  crafty  but  careless  way  he  questioned  her  of  her 
history  and  domestic  life.  She  answered  him  freely 
enough  :  but  there  was  not  much  to  learn.  Her  father 

O        * 

had  come  into  that  part  of  the  country  when  she  was 
quite  a  child.  A  mother? — Of  course  she  had  a  mother 
once,  but  that  was  before  she  could  remember — long 
before  the  old  man  came  to  that  house,  which  she  had 
kept  for  him  from  that  day  out. 

Storms  looked  around  the  room  in  which  they  sat, 
and  a  faint,  derisive  smile  came  across  his  lips,  for  there 
was  dust  on  everything,  and  venerable  cobwebs  hung  in 
the  corners. 

"  Wonderful  housekeeping  it  must  have  been ! "  he 
thought,  while  the  girl  went  on. 


40  NOES  TONJS    REST. 

Did  her  father  own  the  house  ?  Of  course  he  did ; 
she  had  seen  the  lease — a  long  one — which  gave  it 
to  him  for  almost  nothing,  with  her  own  eyes.  Still, 
that  did  not  make  him  very  rich,  and  he  had  to  go  out 
to  day's  work  for  a  living  when  farmers  wanted  help, 
and  not  having  much  strength  to  give,  got  poor  wages, 
and  sometimes  no  work  at  all. 

"Was  her  father  an  old  man?" 

Yes,  old  enough  to  be  her  grandfather.  Good  as  gold, 
too,  for  he  never  scolded  her,  and  was  sure  to  make 
believe  he  wasn't  hungry  when  she  had  no  supper  ready 
after  a  hard  day's  work,  which  was  often  enough,  for  if 
there  was  anything  she  hated  it  was  washing  dishes  and 
setting  out  tables. 

"Isn't  that  rather  hard  on  your  father?"  questioned 
the  young  man. 

Judith  answered,  with  a  heavy  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
that  she  did  not  think  it  was,  for  he  never  did  more  than 
heave  a  little  sigh,  then  take  up  the  Bible  or  some  other 
book,  if  he  could  find  one,  and  read  till  bedtime. 

"A  book!  Does  he  read  much?"  asked  Storms, 
really  surprised. 

Read !  Judith  rather  thought  he  did !  Nothing 
seemed  to  pacify  him  when  he  was  tired  and  hungry  like 
a  book.  Where  did  he  get  the  books?  Why,  folks 
were  always  lending  them  to  him ;  especially  the  clergy 
man.  She  herself  might  never  have  learned  to  read  or 
write  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  father ;  and  then,  what 
would  she  have  done  all  alone  in  the  old  house  from 
morning  till  night?  What  did  she  read  ?  Why,  every 
thing  that  she  could  lay  her  hands  on.  The  girls  about 
had  plenty  of  paper-covered  books,  and  she  always 
managed  to  get  hold  of  them  somehow.  It  was  when 


THE     HILL-SIDE     HOUSE.  41 

she  had  promised  to  read  them  through  in  no  time  that 
her  father  had  to  go  without  his  supper  oftenest. 

Storms  asked  to  look  at  some  of  these  volumes,  if  she 
had  any  on  hand. 

After  a  little  hesitation,  Judith  went  into  the  kitchen 
and  brought  a  soiled  novel,  with  half  the  paper  cover 
torn  off,  which  had  been  hidden  under  the  bread-tray. 

The  smile  deepened  on  the  young  man's  lips  as  he 
turned  over  the  dingy  pages  and  read  a  passage  here  and 
there.  After  a  while  he  lifted  his  eyes,  full  of  sinister 
light,  to  hers,  and  asked  if  her  father  knew  that  she 
read  these  books  so  much. 

The  girl  laughed,  and  said  that  she  wasn't  likely  to 
tell  him,  when  he  thought  she  was  busy  with  the  tracts 
and  history  books  that  he  left  for  her.  Then  she  gave  a 
little  start,  and  looked  anxiously  out  of  the  window,  say 
ing,  with  awkward  hesitation,  that  her  father  was  work 
ing  for  the  clergyman  that  day,  and  might  come  home 
early. 

Storms  arose  at  once.  He  had  no  wish  to  extend  the 
pleasant  acquaintance  he  was  making  to  the  old  man,  if 
he  was  "  good  as  gold." 

As  he  passed  into  the  lane,  the  cow,  that  was  daintily 
cropping  the  grass  on  one  side,  lifted  her  head  and  fol 
lowed  him  with  her  great,  earnest  eyes,  that  seemed  to 
question  his  presence  there  as  if  she  had  been  human. 

He  took  a  step  out  of  the  way  and  patted  her  on  the 
neck,  at  which  she  tossed  her  head  and  wheeled  up  a 
bank,  evidently  not  liking  the  caresses  of  a  stranger. 


42  NORSTON'S    BEST. 

CHAPTER    III. 

WAITING     AND     WATCHING. 

HHHAT  night,  long  after  the  party  at  "Norston's  Rest" 
-J-  had  returned  from  the  hunt,  John  Storms,  a  farmer 
on  the  estate,  who  stood  at  the  door  of  his  house  chafing 
and  annoyed  by  the  disappearance  of  his  son  with  the 
new  horse  that  had  just  been  purchased,  heard  an  un 
equal  tramping  of  hoofs  and  a  strange  sound  of  pain 
from  the  neighboring  stable-yard.  Taking  a  lantern,  for 
it  was  after  dark,  he  went  out  and  was  startled  by  the 
limping  approach  of  the  poor  hunter,  that  had  found  its 
way  home  and  was  wandering  about  the  enclosure  with 
the  bridle  dragging  under  his  feet,  and  empty  stirrups 
swinging  from  the  torn  saddle. 

The  old  man  had  been  made  sullen  and  angry  enough 
by  the  unauthorized  disappearance  of  his  son  with  the 
new  purchase ;  but  when  he  saw  the  empty  saddle  and 
disabled  condition  of  the  lamed  animal,  a  sudden  panic 
seized  upon  him.  He  hurried  into  the  house  with 
strange  pallor  on  his  sunburned  face  and  a  tremor  of  the 
knees,  which  made  him  glad  to  drop  into  a  chair  when 
he  reached  the  kitchen,  where  his  wife  was  moving  about 
her  work  with  the  same  feverish  restlessness  that  had 
ended  so  painfully  with  him. 

The  woman,  startled  by  his  appearance,  came  up  to 
him  in  subdued  agitation. 

"  It  is  only  that  the  new  beast  has  come  home  lamed, 
and  with  the  saddle  empty/'  he  said,  in  reply  to  her  look. 
"  I  must  go  to  the  village,  or  find  some  of  the  grooms. 
Keep  up  a  good  heart,  dame,  till  I  come  back." 


WAITING     AND     WATCHING.  43 

"  Is  he  hurt  ?  Oh,  John  !  is  there  any  sign  that  our 
lad  has  come  to  harm?"  questioned  the  poor  woman, 
shaking  from  head  to  foot,  as  she  supported  herself  by 
the  back  of  the  chair  from  which  her  husband  started  in 
haste  to  be  off. 

"I  will  soon  know — I  will  soon  know" — was  his 
answer.  "  God  help  us  ! " 

"  God  help  us  ! "  repeated  the  woman,  dropping  help 
lessly  down  into  the  chair,  as  her  husband  put  on  his 
hat  and  went  hurriedly  through  the  door ;  and  there  she 
sat  trembling  until  another  sound  of  pain,  that  seemed 
mournfully  human,  reached  her  from  the  stable-yard. 

This  appeal  to  her  compassion  divided  somewhat  the 
agony  of  her  fears,  and  strengthened  her  for  kindly 
exertion.  "Poor  beast,"  she  thought,  "no  one  is  taking 
care  of  him." 

She  looked  around;  no  aid  was  near.  The  tired 
farm-hands  had  gone  to  bed,  or  wandered  off  to  the  vil 
lage.  She  was  rather  glad  of  that.  It  was  something 
that  she  could  appease  her  own  anxiety  by  giving  help 
to  anything  in  distress.  Taking  up  the  lantern,  which 
was  still  alight,  she  went  toward  the  stable,  and  there 
limping  out  of  the  darkness  met  the  wounded  horse.  An 
active  housewife  like  Mrs.  Storms  required  no  help  in 
relieving  the  animal  of  its  trappings.  She  unbuckled  the 
girth,  took  off  the  saddle,  and  passed  her  hand  gently 
down  the  fore  leg,  that  shrunk  and  quivered  even  under 
that  slight  touch. 

"  It  is  a  sprain,  and  a  bad  one,"  she  thought,  leading 
the  poor  beast  into  his  stall,  where  he  lay  down  wearily ; 
"  but  no  bones  are  broken.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  speak 
now  and  tell  me  if  my  lad  is  alive — or — or — Oh,  my 
God,  have  mercy  upon  me,  have  mercy  upon  me ! " 


44  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Here  the  poor  woman  leaned  her  shoulder  against  the 
side  of  the  stall,  and  a  burning  moisture  broke  into  her 
eyes,  filling  them  with  pain ;  for  this  woman  was  given 
to  endurance,  and,  with  such,  weeping  is  seldom  a  relief; 
but  looking  downward  at  the  pathetic  and  almost  human 
appeal  in  the  great  wild  eyes  of  the  wounded  horse,  tears 
partaking  of  compassion  as  well  as  grief  swelled  into 
drops  and  ran  down  her  face  in  comforting  abundance. 
So,  patting  the  poor  beast  on  his  soiled' neck,  she  went 
to  the  house  again  and  heating  some  decoction  of  leaves 
that  she  gathered  from  under  the  garden  wall,  came  back 
with  her  lantern  and  bathed  the  swollen  limb  until  the 
horse  laid  his  head  upon  the  straw,  and  bore  the  slack 
ened  pain  with  patience. 

It  was  a  pity  that  some  other  work  of  mercy  did  not 
present  itself  to  assuage  the  suspense  that  was  becoming 
almost  unendurable  to  a  woman  waiting  to  know  of 
the  life  or  death  of  her  only  son.  She  could  not  sit 
down  in  her  accustomed  place  and  wait,  but  turned 
from  the  threshold  heart-sick,  and,  still  holding  the  lan 
tern,  wandered  up  and  down  a  laue  that  ran  half  a 
mile  before  it  reached  the  highway — up  and  down  until 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  unnumbered  hours  had  passed 
since  she  had  seen  her  husband  go  forth  to  learn  whether 
she  was  a  childless  mother  or  not.  "  Would  he  never 
come?" 

She  grew  weary  at  last,  and  went  into  the  house,  look 
ing  older  by  ten  years  than  she  had  done  before  that 
shock  came,  and  there  she  sat,  perfectly  still,  gazing  into 
the  fire.  Once  or  twice  she  turned  her  eyes  drearily  on 
a  wicker  basketful  of  work,  where  a  sock,  she  had  been 
darning  before  her  husband  came  in,  lay  uppermost,  with 
a  threaded  darning  needle  thrust  through  the  heel,  but  it 


WAITING     AND     WATCHING.  45 

seemed  ages  since  she  had  laid  the  work  down,  and  she 
had  no  will  to  take  it  up ;  for  the  thought  that  her  son 
might  never  need  the  sock  again  pierced  her  like  a  knife. 

Turning  from  the  agony  of  this  thought  she  would 
fasten  her  sad  eyes  on  the  smouldering  coals  as  they 
crumbled  into  ashes,  starting  and  shivering  when  some 
chance  noise  outside  awoke  new  anguish  of  expectation. 

The  sound  she  dared  not  listen  for  came  at  last.  A 
man's  footstep,  slow  and  heavy,  turned  from  the  lane 
and  paused  at  the  kitchen  door. 

She  did  not  move,  she  could  not  breathe,  but  sat  there 
mute  and  still,  waiting. 

The  door  opened,  and  John  Storms  entered  the  kitchen 
where  his  wife  sat.  She  was  afraid  to  look  on  his  face, 
and  kept  her  eyes  on  the  fire,  shivering  inwardly.  He 
came  across  the  room  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 
Then  she  gave  a  start,  and  looked  in  her  husband's  face : 
it  was  sullenly  dark. 

" He  is  not  dead ?"  she  cried  out;  seeing  more  anger 
than  grief  in  the  wrathful  eyes.  "  My  son  is  not  dead  ?  " 

"  No,  not  dead ;  keep  your  mind  easy  about  that ;  but 
he  and  I  will  have  a  reckoning  afore  the  day  breaks, 
and  one  he  shall  remember  to  his  dying  day.  So  I  warn 
you  keep  out  of  it  for  this  time  :  I  mean  to  be  master 
now." 

Here  Storms  seated  himself  in  an  empty  chair  near 
the  fire,  and  stretching  both  feet  out  on  the  hearth, 
thrust  a  hand  into  each  pocket  of  his  corduroy  dress. 
With  the  inconsistency  of  a  rough  nature,  he  had  allowed 
the  anguish  and  fright  that  had  seized  upon  him  with 
the  first  idea  of  his  son's  danger  to  harden  into  bitterness 
and  wrath  against  the  young  man,  the  moment  he  learned 
that  all  his  apprehensions  had  been  groundless.  Even . 


46  NOUS-TON'S    REST. 

the  pale,  pitiful  face  of  his  wife  had  no  softening  effect 
upon  him. 

"  He  is  alive — but  you  say  nothing  more.  Tell  me  is 
our  son  maimed — is  he  hurt  ?  " 

"  Hurt !  He  deserves  to  have  his  neck  broken.  I  tell 
you  the  lad  is  getting  beyond  our  management — wander 
ing  about  after  the  gentry  up  yonder  as  if  he  belonged 
with  them ;  going  after  the  hunt  and  almost  getting  his 
neck  broke  on  the  new  horse  that  fell  short  of  his  leap  at 
a  wall  with  a  ditch  on  t'other  side,  that  the  best  hunter 
in  Sir  Noel's  stables  couldn't  V  cleared." 

"  Oh,  father  !  you  heard  that ;  but  was  he  much  hurt  ? 
Why  didn't  they  bring  him  home  at  once?"  cried  the 
mother,  with  a  fever  of  dread  in  her  eyes. 

"  Hurt !  not  half  so  much  as  he  deserves  to  be/7  an 
swered  the  man,  roughly.  "  Why,  that  horse  may  be  laid 
up  for  a  month  ;  besides,  at  his  best,  there  isn't  a  day's  farm- 
work  under  his  shining  hide.  The  lad  cheated  us  in  the 
buying  of  him,  a  hunter  past  his  prime — that  is  what  has 
been  put  upon  me,  and  serves  me  right  for  trusting  him." 

"But you  will  not  tell  me,  is  our  Richard  hurt?"  cried 
the  woman,  in  a  voice  naturally  mild,  but  now  sharp 
with  anxiety. 

"  Hurt !  not  he.  Only  made  a  laughing-stock  for  the 
grooms  and  whippers-in  who  saw  him  cast  head  over 
heels  into  a  ditch,  and  farther  on  in  the  day  trudging 
home  afoot." 

The  woman  fell  back  in  her  chair  with  a  deep  sigh 
of  relief. 

"  Then  he  was  not  hurt.  Oh,  father  !  why  could  ye 
not  tell  me  this  at  first?" 

"  Because  ye  are  aye  so  foolish  o'er  the  lad,  cosseting 
a  strapping  grown-up  loon  as  if  he  was  a  baby  ;  that  is 
what'll  be  his  ruin  in  the  end." 


WAITING     AND     WATCHING.  47 

"  He  is  our  only  son/'  pleaded  the  mother. 

"  Aye,  and  thankful  I  am  that  we  have  no  more  of 
the  same  kind." 

"Oh,  father!" 

"  There,  there ;  don't  anger  me,  woman.  The  things 
I  heard  down  yonder  have  put  me  about  more  than  a 
bit.  The  lad  will  be  coming  home,  and  a  good  sound 
rating  he  shall  have." 

Here  farmer  Storms  thrust  his  feet  still  farther  out  on 
the  hearth,  and  sat  watching  the  fire  with  a  sullen  frown 
growing  darker  and  darker  on  his  lace. 

As  the  time  wore  on,  Mrs.  Storms  saw  that  he  became 
more  and  more  irritated.  His  hands  worked  restlessly 
in  his  pockets,  and,  from  time  to  time,  he  cast  dark  looks 
at  the  door. 

These  signs  of  ill  humor  made  the  woman  anxious. 

"  It  is  going  on  to  twelve,"  she  said,  looking  at  the 
brazen  face  of  an  old  upright  clock  that  stood  in  a  corner 
of  the  kitchen.  "  I  am  tired." 

"  What  keeps  ye  from  bed,  then  ?  As  for  me,  I'll 
not  quit  this  chair  till  Dick  comes  home." 

Mrs.  Storms  drew  back  into  her  chair  and  folded  both 
hands  on  her  lap.  She  was  evidently  afraid  that  her 
husband  and  son  should  meet  while  the  former  was  in 
that  state  of  mind.  • 

"  I  wonder  where  he  is  stopping,"  she  said,  uncon 
sciously  speaking  aloud. 

"  At  the  public.  Where  else  can  he  harbor  at  this  time 
of  night  ?  When  Dick  is  missing  one  is  safe  to  look  for 
him  there." 

"  It  may  be  that  he  has  stopped  in  at  Jessup's.  I  am 
sure  that  pretty  Euth  could  draw  him  from  the  public 
any  day." 


48 

"  But  it'll  not  be  long,  as  things  are  going,  before  Jes- 
sup  '11  forbid  him  the  house.  The  girl  has  high  thoughts 
of  herself,  with  all  her  soft  ways,  and  will  have  a  good 
bit  of  money  when  her  god-mother  dies  and  the  old  gar 
dener  has  done  with  his.  If  Dick  goes  on  at  this  pace 
some  one  else  will  be  sure  to  step  in,  and  there  isn't  such 
another  match  for  him  in  the  whole  county." 

a  But  he  may  be  coming  from  the  gardener's  cottage 
now,"  suggested  the  mother.  "  Young  men  do  not  always 
give  it  out  at  home  when  they  visit  their  sweethearts. 
You  remember — " 

Here  a  smile,  full  of  pleasant  memories,  softened  the 
old  man's  face,  and  his  hard  hand  stole  into  his  wife's 
lap,  searching  shyly  for  hers. 

"  Maybe  I  do  forget  them  times  more  than  I  ought, 
wife ;  but  no  one  can  say  I  ever  went  by  your  house  to 
spend  a  night  at  the  ale-house — now,  can  they  ?  " 

"  But  Dick  may  not  do  it  either,"  pleaded  the  mother. 

"  I  tell  you,  wife,  there  is  no  use  blinding  ourselves : 
the  young  man  spends  half  his  time  treating  the  lazy 
fellows  of  the  neighborhood,  for  no  one  else  has  so  much 
money." 

The  old  lady  sighed  heavily. 

"  Worse  than  that !  he  joins  in  all  the  low  sports  of 
the  place.  Why,  he  is  training  rat-terriers  in  the  stable 
and  game-chickens  in  the  barnyard.  I  caught  him  fight 
ing  them  this  very  morning." 

"  Oh,  John  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  ready  to  accuse 
any  one  rather  than  her  only  child ;  "  if  you  had  only  list 
ened  to  me  when  we  took  him  out  of  school,  and  given 
him  a  bit  more  learning." 

"  He's  got  more  learning  by  half  than  I  ever  had," 
answered  the  old  man,  moodily, 


THE      SON'S     BET  URN.  49 

"  But  you  had  your  way  to  make  and  no  time  for 
much  study;  but  we  are  well-to-do  in  the  world,  and 
our  son  need  not  work  the  farm  like  us." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  are  right,  old  woman.  Dick 
never  will  make  a  good  farm-hand.  He  wants  to  be 
master  or  nothing." 

"  Hark — he  is  coming  ! "  answered  the  wife,  brighten 
ing  up  and  laying  her  hand  on  the  old  man's  arm. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     SON'S     RETURN. 

"YY7"HEN  Richard  Storms  entered  his  father's  house 
V  V  that  night  it  was  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had 
some  just  cause  of  offence  against  the  old  people  who  had 
been  so  long  waiting  for  him.  His  sharp  and  rather 
handsome  features  were  clouded  with  temper  as  he 
pushed  open  the  kitchen  door  and  held  it  while  two 
ugly  dogs  crowded  in,  and  his  first  words  were  insolently 
aggressive. 

"What !  up  yet,  sulking  over  the  fire  and  waiting  for 
a  row,  are  you?  Well,  have  it  out;  one  of  the  men 
told  me  that  brute  of  a  horse  had  got  home  with  his  leg 
twisted.  I  wish  it  had  been  his  neck.  Now,  what  have 
you  got  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

The  elder  Storms  started  up  angrily,  but  his  wife  laid 

a  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  besought  silence  with  her 

beseeching  eyes.     Then  she  was   about  to  approach   the 

young  man,  but  one  of  the  dogs  snapped  fiercely  at  her, 

3 


60  N  O  R  S  T  O  N  '  S     H  E  S  T . 

and  when  the  son  kicked  him,  retreated,  grinding  a  piece 
of  her  dress  in  his  teeth. 

"You  had  better  take  care,  mother!  The  landlord 
of  the  'Two  Ravens'  has  had  him  in  training.  He's 
been  in  a  grand  fight  over  yonder,  and  killed  more  rats 
than  you'd  want  to  count.  That  makes  him  savage,  you 
know." 

Mrs.  Storms  shrunk  away  from  the  danger,  and  in 
great  terror  crouched  down  by  the  oaken  chair  from 
which  her  husband  had  risen.  The  old  man  started  for 
ward,  but  before  he  could  shake  off  the  hold  of  his  wife, 
who  seized  his  garments  in  a  spasm  of  distress,  Richard 
had  kicked  both  dogs  through  the  door. 

"  Take  that  for  your  impudence,"  he  said,  fiercely. 
"To  the  kennel  with  you  !  it's  the  only  place  for  such 
curs.  Mother,  mother,  I  say,  get  up ;  the  whelps  are 
gone.  I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  out  of  bed,  or  they 
shouldn't  have  come  in." 

Mrs.  Storms  stood  up,  still  shaking  with  fear,  while 
Richard  dropped  into  his  father's  chair  and  stretched  his 
limbs  out  upon  the  hearth.  The  old  man  took  another 
seat,  frowning  darkly. 

•"We  have  been  talking  about  you — father  and  I," 
said  the  old  woman,  with  a  quiver  of  the  passing  fright 
in  her  voice. 

"No  good,  I'll  be  sworn,  if  the  old  man  had  a  hand 
in  it,"  answered  the  son. 

"  You  are  wrong,"  said  the  mother,  pressing  her  hand 
on  the  young  man's  shoulder.  "No  father  ever  thought 
more  of  a  son,  if  you  would  only  do  something  to  please 
him  now  and  then.  He  was  speaking  just  now  of  letting 
you  have  more  charge  of  the  place." 

"Well,  that  will  come  when  I  am  my  own  master." 


THE     SON'S     RETURN.  51 

"  That  is,  when  I  am  dead ! "  broke  in  the  old  man, 
with  bitter  emphasis.  "  I  almost  wish  for  death  now. 
What  your  mother  and  I  have  to  live  for,  God  only 
knows." 

"  Hush,  John,  hush  !  Don't  talk  so.  Eichard  will 
forget  his  idle  ways,  and  be  a  blessing  to  us  yet.  Re 
member  how  we  have  spoiled  him." 

"  There,  there,  mother,  let  him  have  it  out.  There's 
no  use  reasoning  with  him  when  his  back  is  up,"  said 
the  young  man,  stretching  himself  more  comfortably  and 
turning  a  belligerent  look  on  the  father. 

Mrs.  Storms  bent  over  her  son,  greatly  troubled. 

"Don't  anger  your  father,  Dick.  He  was  planning 
kindly  for  you." 

"  Planning  what  ? — to  keep  me  tied  down  here  all  my 
life?" 

"  If  I  have  tried  to  do  that,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it 
came  from  more  love  than  I  felt  like  talking  about. 
Your  mother  and  I  haven't  many  pleasures  now,  and 
when  you  are  away  so  much  we  feel  lonesome." 

Dick  turned  in  his  chair  and  looked  keenly  at  the  old 
man,  amazed  by  his  unusual  gentleness.  The  lines  that 
seemed  hard  as  steel  in  his  young  face  relaxed  a  little. 

"Why  couldn't  you  have  talked  like  that  oftener, 
and  made  it  a  little  more  pleasant  at  home  ?  One  must 
have  something  of  life.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do, 
father." 

"Yes;  your  mother  and  I  have  been  making  allow 
ances  for  that.  Maybe  things  might  have  been  managed 
for  the  better  all  along ;  but  we  must  make  the  best  of  it 
now.  As  your  mother  says,  a  well-to-do  man's  only  son 
should  make  something  better  of  himself  than  a  farm 
drudge ;  so  we  won't  quarrel  about  it.  Only  be  careful 


52  NORSTON'SREST. 

that  the  lass  your  mother  and  I  have  set  our  hearts 
on  gets  no  evil  news  of  you,  or  we  shall  have  trouble 
there." 

Richard  laughed  at  this  and  answered  with  an  air  of 
bravado,  "No  fear,  no  fear.  The  girl  is  too  fond  of 
me." 

"But  her  father  is  a  skittish  man  to  deal  with,  once 
his  back  is  up,  and  you  will  find  it  hard  managing  the 
lass :  let  him  see  you  with  them  terriers  at  your  heels,  and 
he'll  soon  be  off  the  bargain." 

"  If  you  are  troubled  about  that,  kick  the  dogs  into 
the  street  and  sell  the  game-chickens,  if  they  crowd 
mother's  bantams  out.  How  can  a  dutiful  son  do  more 
than  that?" 

"Ah,  now  you  talk  like  a  sensible  lad  !  Make  good 
time,  and  when  you  bring  the  lass  home,  mother  and  I 
will  have  a  bit  of  a  cottage  on  the  laud,  and  mayhap  you 
will  be  master  here." 

"Is  he  in  earnest,  mother?" 

"I  think  he  is." 

"And  you,  father?" 

"  For  once  I  mean  that  your  mother  shall  take  her 
own  way :  mine  has  led  to  this." 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  clock,  and  then  on  the  wet 
marks  of  the  dogs'  feet  on  the  kitchen  floor,  with  grave 
significance. 

Young  Storms  laughed  a  low,  unpleasant  laugh,  which 
had  nothing  of  genuine  hilarity  in  it. 

"You  are  right,  father.  We  should  only  have  gone 
from  bad  to  worse.  I  don't  take  to  hard  work,  but  the 
other  thing  suits  me  exactly.  You'll  see  that  I  shall 
come  up  to  time  in  that." 

Just  then  the  old  clock  struck  one  with  a  hoarse, 


THE     SON'S     RETURN.  53 

angry  clang,  as  if  wrathful  that  the  morning  should  be 
encroached  upon  in  that  house. 

Mrs.  Storms  took  up  one  of  the  candles  and  gave  it  to 
her  son. 

"Good-night,  my  son,"  she  said,  looking  from  the 
clock  to  her  husband  with  pathetic  tenderness  in  her 
voice.  "  Dick,  you  can  kiss  me  good-night  as  you  used 
to  when  I  went  to  tuck  up  your  bed  in  the  winter.  It'll 
seem  like  old  times,  won't  it,  husband?  Shake  hands 
with  your  father,  too.  It  isn't  many  men  as  would  give 
up  as  he  has." 

The  young  man  kissed  his  mother,  with  some  show  of 
feeling,  and  shook  hands  with  his  father  in  a  hesitating 
way;  but  altogether  his  manner  was  so  conciliatory  that 
it  touched  those  honest  hearts  with  unusual  tenderness. 

"You  see  what  kindness  can  do  with  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Storms,  as  she  stood  on  the  hearth  with  the  other  candle 
stick  in  her  hand,  while  her  husband  raked  up  the  fire. 
"  He  has  gone  up  to  bed  with  a  smile  on  his  face." 

"People  are  apt  to  smile  when  they  get  their  own 
way,"  muttered  the  old  man,  who  was  half  ashamed  of 
his  concession.  "  But  I  have  no  idea  of  taking  anything 
back.  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that.  The  young  man 
shall  have  his  chance." 

A  sob  was  the  only  answer  he  got.  Looking  over  his 
shoulder,  as  he  put  the  shovel  in  its  corner,  he  saw  that 
tears  were  streaming  down  the  old  woman's  face. 

"  Why,  what  are  you  crying  about,  mother?" 

"  I  am  so  thankful." 

The  good  woman  might  have  intended  to  say  more, 
but  she  broke  off  suddenly,  and  the  words  died  on  her 
lips.  The  candle  she  held  was  darkened,  and  she  saw 
that  the  wick  was  broadening  at  the  top  like  a  tiny 


54  NORSTON'S  REST. 

mushroom,  forming  that  weird  thing  called  a  "  corpse- 
light77  in  the  midst  of  the  blaze. 

"What  is  the  matter?  What  are  you  afraid  of? "  said 
the  farmer,  wondering  at  the  paleness  in  his  wife's  face. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  heavy  wick.  "  It 
seems  to  have  come  all  of  a  sudden." 

"Only  that?"  said  the  old  man,  scornfully,  snuffing 
out  the  corpse-light  with  his  thumb  and  finger. 

A  shudder  passed  over  the  woman  as  those  horny 
fingers  closed  on  the  corpse-light  and  flung  it  smoking 
into  the  ashes. 

The  old  man  had  no  sympathy  with  superstitions,  and 
spoke  to  his  wife  more  sharply  than  was  kind,  after  the 
double  fright  that  had  shaken  her  nerves.  Perhaps  this 
thought  came  over  him,  for  he  patted  her  arm  with  his 
rough  hand,  awkwardly  enough,  not  being  given  to  much 
display  of  affection,  and  told  her  that  she  had  for  once 
got  her  own  way,  and  mustn't  be  frightened  out  of  what 
sleep  was  left  for  them  between  that  and  daylight  by  a 
smudge  of  soot  in  the  candle. 

"  You  can't  expect  candles  to  burn  after  midnight 
without  crumpling  up  their  wicks,"  he  said,  philosoph 
ically  :  "so  come  to  bed.  The  lad  is  sound  asleep  by  this 
time,  I  dare  say." 

These  kind  arguments  did  not  have  the  desired  effect, 
for  the  mother's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  her  hand 
quivered  under  the  weight  of  the  candlestick,  spite  of  all 
her  efforts  to  conceal  it  from  the  observation  of  her  hus 
band. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  the  farmer  was  asleep,  but 
his  wife,  being  of  a  finer  and  more  sensitive  nature,  could 
not  rest.  Like  most  countrywomen  of  her  class,  she 
mingled  some  degree  of  superstition  even  with  her 


THE     SON?S     EETUBN.  55 

most  religious  thoughts.  Notwithstanding  her  terror 
occasioned  by  the  snarling  dog,  she  might  have  slept 
well,  for  the  scene  that  had  threatened  to  end  in  rageful 
assault  had  subsided  in  unexpected  concession;  but  the 
funereal  blackness  in  that  candle  coming  so  close  upon 
her  fright  completely  unnerved  her.  Certain  it  is  no 
sleep  came  to  those  weary  eyes.  Close  them  as  she 
would,  that  unseemly  light  glared  upon  them,  and  to  her 
weird  imagination  seemed  to  point  out  some  danger  for 
her  son. 

At  last  the  poor  woman  was  seized  with  a  desperate 
yearning  of  motherhood,  which  had  often  led  her  to  her 
son's  room  when  the  helplessness  of  infancy  or  the 
perils  of  sickness  appealed  to  her — a  yearning  that  drew 
her  softly  from  her  bed.  Folding  a  shawl  over  her  night 
dress,  she  mounted  the  stairs  and  entered  the  chamber 
where  the  young  man  lay  in  slumber  so  profound  that 
he  was  quite  unconscious  of  her  presence;  for  neither 
conscience  nor  tenderness  ever  took  growth  enough  in  his 
nature  to  disturb  an  animal  want  of  any  kind.  But  the 
light  of  a  waning  moon  lay  upon  his  face,  so  the  woman 
fell  upon  her  knees,  and  gazing  on  those  features,  which 
might  not  have  seemed  in  any  degree  perfect  to  another, 
soothed  herself  into  prayer,  and,  out  of  the  tranquillity 
that  brings,  into  the  sleep  her  nature  craved  so  much. 

The  morning  light  found  her  kneeling  thus,  with  her 
cheek  resting  on  his  hand,  which,  in  her  tender  uncon 
sciousness,  she  had  stolen  and  hidden  away  there. 


56  NORSTON'S    REST. 

CHAPTER   V. 

CONFESSING     HIS     LOVE. 


a  StatG  °f 

parative  quiet.  The  throng  of  visitors  that  had 
made  the  place  so  brilliant  had  departed,  and,  for  the  first 
time  in  months,  Sir  Noel  could  enjoy  the  company  of  his 
son  with  a  feeling  of  restfulness  ;  for  now  the  discipline  of 
school  and  college  lay  behind  the  young  man,  and  he  was 
ready  to  begin  life  in  earnest.  After  travelling  a  while 
on  the  continent  he  had  entered  upon  the  dignity  of  heir- 
ship  with  all  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  a  great  ovation,  into 
which  he  had  brought  so  much  of  kindly  memory  and 
generous  purpose  that  his  popularity  almost  rivalled  the 
love  and  homage  with  which  his  father  was  regarded. 

Sir  Noel  was  a  proud  man  —  so  proud  that  the  keenest 
critic  must  have  failed  to  discover  one  trace  of  the  arro 
gant  self-assumption  that  so  many  persons  are  ready  to 
display  as  a  proof  of  superiority.  With  Sir  Noel  this 
feeling  was  a  delicate  permeation  of  his  whole  being, 
natural  to  it  as  the  blue  blood  that  flowed  in  his  veins, 
and  as  little  thought  of.  Profound  self-respect  rendered 
encroachment  on  the  reserve  of  another  simply  impossible. 
During  the  stay  of  his  son  at  "  The  Rest  "  one  fond  hope 
had  possessed  the  baronet,  and  that  grew  out  of  his  in 
tense  love  of  two  human  beings  that  were  dearest  to  him 
on  earth  —  the  young  heir  and  Lady  Rose  Hubert. 

It  could  not  be  asserted  that  ambition  led  to  this  wish  ; 
though  the  lady's  rank  was  of  the  highest,  and  she  was 
the  inheritor  of  estates  that  made  her  a  match  even  for 
the  heir  of  "  Norston's  Rest."  The  baronet  in  the  isola- 


CONFESSING     HTS     LOVE.  57 

tion  of  his  long  widowerhood  had  found  in  this  fair  girl 
all  that  he  could  have  desired  in  a  daughter  of  his  own. 
Her  delicacy  of  bloom  and  beauty  appealed  to  his  aesthe 
tic  taste.  Her  gayety  and  the  spirituelle  sadness  into 
which  it  sometimes  merged  gave  his  home  life  a  delight 
ful  variety.  He  could  not  think  of  her  leaving  "  The 
Best "  without  a  pang  such  as  noble-hearted  fathers  feel 
when  they  give  away  their  daughters  at  the  altar.  To 
Sir  Noel,  Lady  Kose  was  the  brightest  and  most  perfect 
being  on  earth,  and  the  great  desire  of  his  heart  was  that 
she  should  become  his  daughter  in  fact,  as  she  already 
was  in  his  affections. 

Filled  with  this  hope  he  had  watched  with  some  anxi 
ety  for  the  influence  this  young  lady's  loveliness  might 
produce  upon  his  son,  without  in  any  way  intruding  his 
wishes  into  the  investigation  ;  for,  with  regard  to  the  per 
fect  freedom  which  every  heart  should  have  to  choose  a 
companionship  of  love  for  itself,  this  old  patrician  was 
peculiarly  sensitive.  Having  in  his  own  early  years 
suffered,  as  few  men  ever  had,  by  the  uprooting  of  one 
great  hope,  he  was  peculiarly  anxious  that  no  such  abiding 
calamity  should  fall  on  the  only  son  and  heir  of  his  house, 
but  he  was  not  the  less  interested  in  the  choice  that  son 
might  make  when  the  hour  of  decision  carne.  With  all 
his  liberality  of  sentiment  it  had  never  entered  the 
thoughts  of  the  baronet  that  a  man  of  his  race  could 
choose  ignobly,  or  look  beneath  the  rank  in  which  he  was 
born.  To  him  perfect  liberty  of  choice  was  limited, 
by  education  and  family  traditions,  to  a  selection  among 
the  highest  and  the  best  in  his  own  proud  sphere  of  life. 
Thus  it  became  possible  that  his  sentiments,  uttered 
under  this  unexplained  limitation,  might  be  honestly 
misunderstood. 


58  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Some  months  had  passed  since  the  young  heir  had 
taken  up  his  home  at  "The  Rest" — pleasant  months  to 
the  baronet,  who  had  looked  forward  to  this  period 
with  the  longing  affection  which  centred  everything  of 
love  and  pride  on  this  one  human  being  that  man  can 
feel  for  man.  At  first  it  had  been  enough  of  happiness 
that  his  son  was  there,  honored,  content — with  an  un 
clouded  and  brilliant  future  before  him — but  human  wishes 
are  limitless,  and  the  strong  desire  that  the  young  man 
should  anchor  his  heart  where  his  own  wishes  lay  grew 
into  a  pleasant  belief.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  when 
two  beings  so  richly  endowed  were  brought  into  the  close 
companionship  of  a  common  home? 

One  day,  when  the  father  and  son  chanced  to  be  alone 
in  the  grand  old  library,  where  Sir  Noel  spent  so  much 
of  his  time,  the  conversation  seemed  naturally  to  turn 
upon  some  future  arrangements  regarding  the  estate. 

"  It  has  been  a  pleasant  burden  to  me  so  far/7  said  the 
old  gentleman,  "  because  every  day  made  the  lands  a 
richer  inheritance  for  you  and  your  children ;  but  now 
I  am  only  waiting  for  one  event  to  place  the  heaviest 
responsibility  on  your  young  shoulders." 

"  You  mean,"  said  the  young  man,  flushing  a  little, 
"  that  you  would  impose  two  burdens  upon  me  at  once — 
a  vast  estate  and  some  lady  to  preside  over  the  old  house." 

The  baronet  smiled,  and  answered  with  a  faint  motion 
of  the  head. 

Then  the  young  man  answered,  laughingly : 

"  There  is  plenty  of  time  for  that.  I  have  everything 
to  learn  before  so  great  a  trust  should  be  given  me.  As 
for  the  house,  no  one  could  preside  there  better  than  the 
Lady  Kose." 

The  baronet's  face  brightened. 


CONFESSING     HIS     LOVE.  59 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  we  could  hardly  expect  that.  In  all 
England  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  creature  so  lovely 
and  so  well  fitted  to  the  position." 

Sir  Noel  faltered  as  he  concluded  this  sentence.  He 
had  not  intended  to  connect  the  idea  of  this  lady  so 
broadly  with  his  wishes.  To  his  refined  nature  it  seemed 
as  if  her  dignity  had  been  sacrificed. 

"  She  is,  indeed,  a  marvel  of  beauty  and  goodness," 
answered  the  young  man,  apparently  unmindful  of  the 
words  that  had  disturbed  his  father.  "  I  for  one  am  in 
no  haste  to  disturb  her  reign  at  '  Norston's  Rest.' " 

Sir  Noel  was  about  to  say :  "  But  it  might  be  made 
perpetual,"  but  the  sensitive  delicacy  natural  to  the  man 
checked  the  thought  before  it  formed  itself  into  speech. 

"  Still  it  is  in  youth  that  the  best  foundations  for  do 
mestic  happiness  are  laid.  I  look  upon  it  as  a  great 
misfortune  when  circumstances  forbid  a  man  to  follow 
the  first  and  freshest  impulses  of  his  heart — " 

Here  the  baronet  broke  off,  and  a  deep  unconscious 
sigh  completed  the  sentence. 

Young  Hurst  looked  at  his  father  with  awakened  in 
terest.  The  expression  of  sadness  that  came  over  those 
finely-cut  features  made  him  thoughtful.  He  remem 
bered  that  Sir  Noel  had  entered  life  a  younger  son,  and 
that  he  had  not  left  the  army  to  take  possession  of  his  title 
and  estates  until  after  mid-age.  Pie  could  only  guess 
at  the  romance  of  success  or  disappointment  that  might 
have  gone  before ;  but  even  that  awoke  new  sympathy 
in  the  young  man's  heart  for  his  father. 

"  I  can  hardly  think  that  there  is  any  time  of  life  for 
which  a  man  has  power  to  lay  down  for  himself  certain 
rules  of  action,"  he  said.  "To  say  that  any  man  will  or 
will  not  marry  at  any  given  period  is  to  suppose  him 
capable  of  great  control  over  his  own  best  feelings." 


60  NOKSTON'S    BEST. 

"  You  are  right/'  answered  Sir  Noel,  with  more  feel 
ing  than  he  usually  exhibited.  "  The  time  for  a  man  to 
marry  is  when  he  is  certainly  in  love." 

"And  the  person?"  questioned  the  young  man,  with  a 
strange  expression  of  earnestness  in  his  manner. 

"Ah  !    The  person  that  he  does  love." 

Sir  Noel,  thinking  of  his  ward,  was  not  surprised  to 
see  a  flood  of  crimson  rush  over  the  young  man's  face, 
nor  offended  when  he  arose  abruptly  and  left  the  library. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CONFESSIONS     OF     LOVE. 

r  I  THE  baronet  might,  however,  have  been  surprised 
-L     had  he  seen  Walton  Hurst  pass  the  Lady  Rose  on 
the  terrace,  only  lifting  his  hat  in  recognition  of  her  pres 
ence  as  he  hurried  into  the  park. 

"  He  guesses  at  my  madness,  or,  at  the  worst,  he  will 
forgive  it,"  ran  through  his  thoughts  as  he  took  a  near 
route  toward  the  wilderness,  "  and  she — ah,  I  have  been 
cruel  in  this  strife  to  conquer  myself.  My  love,  my  beau 
tiful  wild-bird !  It  will  be  sweet  to  see  her  eyes  brighten 
and  her  mouth  tremble  under  a  struggle  to  keep  back  her 
smiles." 

Thoughts  like  these  occupied  the  young  man  until  he 
stood  before  the  gardener's  cottage,  and  looked  eagerly 
into  the  porch,  hoping  to  see  something  besides  the  birds 
fluttering  under  the  vines.  He  was  disappointed:  no 
one  was  there ;  but  glancing  through  the  oriel  window 
he  saw  a  gleam  of  warm  color  and  the  dejected  droop  of 


CONFESSIONS     OF     LOVE.  61 

a  head,  that  might  have  grown  weary  with  looking  out 
of  the  window ;  for  it  fell  lower  and  lower,  as  if  two 
unsteady  hands  were  supporting  the  face.  Hurst  trod 
lightly  over  the  turf,  holding  his  breath,  lifted  the  latch 
and  stole  into  the  little  parlor  in  which  the  girl,  we  have 
once  seen  in  the  porch,  was  sitting  disconsolately,  as  she 
had  done  hours  each  day  through  a  lonely  week. 

"Ruth!" 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  uttering  a  little  cry  of 
delight.  Then  an  impulse  of  pride  seized  upon  the 
heart  that  was  beating  so  wildly,  and  she  drew  back, 
repudiating  her  own  gladness. 

"  I  hoped  to  find  you  here  and  alone,"  he  said,  hold 
ing  out  both  hands  with  a  warmth  that  astonished  her ; 
for  she  shrunk  back  and  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  I  have  been  away  so  long,  and  all  the  time  longing 
to  come ;  nay,  nay,  I  will  not  have  that  proud  lift  of  the 
head ;  for,  indeed,  I  deserve  a  brighter  welcome." 

The  girl  had  done  her  best  to  be  reserved  and  cold, 
but  how  could  she  succeed  with  those  pleading  eyes  upon 
her — those  two  hands  searching  for  hers  ? 

"  It  is  so  long,  so  long,"  she  said,  with  sweet  upbraid 
ing  in  her  eyes;  "father  has  wondered  why  you  did  not 
come.  It  is  very  cruel  neglecting  him  so." 

Hurst  smiled  at  her  pretty  attempt  at  subterfuge ;  for 
he  really  had  not  spent  much  of  his  time  in  visiting  Jessup, 
though  the  gardener  had  been  a  devoted  friend  during 
his  boyhood,  and  truly  believed  that  it  was  old  remem 
brances  that  brought  the  young  man  so  often  to  his 
cottage. 

"  I  fancy  your  father  will  not  have  missed  me  very 
much,"  he  said. 

"  But  he  does ;  indeed,  indeed  he  does." 


62  NORS  TON'S    REST. 

"And  you  cared  nothing  ?  " 

Ruth  dropped  her  eyelids,  and  he  saw  that  tears  were 
swelling  under  them.  Selfishly  watching  her  emotion 
until  the  long  black  lashes  were  wet,  he  lifted  her  hands 
suddenly  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them,  with  passionate 
warmth. 

She  struggled,  and  wrenched  her  hands  away  from 
him. 

"  You  must  not — you  must  not :  father  would  be  so 
angry." 

"  Not  if  he  knew  how  much  I  love  you." 

She  stood  before  him  transfigured;  her  black  eyes 
opened  wide  and  bright,  her  frame  trembled,  her  hands 
were  clasped. 

"  You  love  me — you  ?  " 

"  Truly,  Kuth,  and  dearly  as  ever  man  loved  woman," 
was  the  earnest,  almost  solemn,  answer. 

The  girl  turned  pale,  even  her  lips  grew  white. 

"  I  dare  not  let  you,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  was 
almost  a  whisper.  "  I  dare  not." 

"But  how  can  you  help  it?"  said  Hurst,  smiling  at 
her  terror. 

"How  can  I  help  it?" 

The  girl  lifted  her  hands  as  if  to  ward  him  away. 
This  announcement  of  his  love  frightened  her.  A  sweet 
unconscious  dream  that  had  neither  end  nor  beginning 
in  her  young  experience  had  been  rudely  broken  up 
by  it. 

"You  tremble — you  turn  pale.  Is  it  because  you 
cannot  love  me,  Ruth?" 

"Love  you — love  you?"  repeated  the  girl,  in  wild 
bewilderment.  "Oh,  God!  forgive  me — forgive  me!  I 
do,  I  do!" 


CONFESSIONS     OF     LOVE.  63 

Her  face  was  one  flame  of  scarlet  now,  and  she  covered 
it  with  her  hands — shame,  terror,  and  a  great  ecstasy  of 
joy  seized  upon  her. 

11  Let  me  go,  let  me  go,  I  cannot  bear  it,"  she  pleaded, 
at  length.  "  I  dare  not  meet  my  father  after  this." 

"  But  I  dare  take  your  hand  in  mine  and  say  to  him, 
as  one  honorable  man  should  say  to  another :  "  I  love 
this  girl,  and  some  day  she  shall  become  my  wife." 

"Your  wife!" 

"I  did  not  know  till  now  the  sweetness  that  lies  in 
a  single  word.  Yes,  Ruth,  when  a  Hurst  speaks  of 
love  he  speaks  also  of  marriage." 

"No,  no,  that  can  never  be — Sir  Noel,  Lady  Rose, 
my  father — you  forget  them  all ! " 

"  No,  I  forget  nothing.  Sir  Noel  is  generous,  and  he 
loves  me.  You  have  always  been  a  favorite  with  Lady 
Rose.  As  for  your  father — " 

"  He  would  die  rather  than  drag  down  the  old  family 
like  that.  My  father,  in  his  way,  is  proud  as  Sir  Noel. 
Besides — besides —  " 

"Well,  what  besides?" 

"  He  has  promised.  He  and  John  Storms  arranged  it 
long  ago." 

"Arranged  what,  Ruth?" 

"That — that  I  should  some  day  be  mistress  of  the 
farm." 

"  Mistress  of  the  farm — and  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hurst !  it  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  it, 
but  father's  promise  was  given  when  I  did  not  care  so 
much,  and  I  let  it  go  on  without  rebelling." 

Ruth  held  out  her  hands,  imploringly,  as  she  said 
this,  but  Hurst  turned  away  from  her,  and  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  the  little  parlor,  while  she  shrunk 


64  NORSTON'S    REST. 

into  the  recess  of  the  window,  and  watched  him  timidly 
through  her  tears.  At  last  he  came  up  to  her,  blaming 
his  own  anger. 

"  This  must  never  be,  Euth  ! " 

"  You  do  not  know  what  a  promise  is  to  my  father," 
said  the  girl,  with  piteous  helplessness. 

"  Yes,  I  do  know ;  but  this  is  one  he  shall  not  keep." 

Once  more  the  young  man  took  the  hands  she  dared 
not  offer  him  again,  and  pressed  them  to  his  lips.  Then 
he  went  away  full  of  anger  and  perplexity. 

Euth  watched  him  through  the  window  till  his  tall 
figure  was  lost  in  the  windings  of  the  path ;  then  she  ran 
up  to  her  own  little  room,  and  throwing  herself  on  the 
bed,  wept  until  tears  melted  away  her  trouble,  and 
became  an  exquisite  pleasure.  The  ivy  about  the  win 
dow  shed  a  lovely  twilight  around  her,  and  the  shadows 
of  its  trembling  leaves  tinted  the  snowy  whiteness  of  the 
pillow  on  which  her  cheek  rested,  with  fairy-like  em 
broidery.  The  place  was  like  heaven  to  her.  Here 
this  young  girl  lay,  thrilled  heart  and  soul  by  the  first 
passion  of  her  womanhood.  This  feeling  that  burned 
on  her  cheek,  and  swelled  in  her  bosom,  was  a  delicious 
insanity.  There  was  no  hope  in  it — no  chance  for  reason, 
but  Hurst  loved  her,  and  that  one  thought  filled  the 
moment  with  joy. 

With  her  hands  clasped  over  her  bosom,  and  her  eyes 
closed  in  the  languor  of  subsiding  emotion,  she  lay  as  in 
a  dream,  save  that  her  lips  moved,  as  red  rose-leaves  stir 
when  the  rain  falls  on  them,  but  all  that  they  uttered 
was,  "  He  loves  me — he  loves  me." 

If  a  thought  of  her  father  or  of  Richard  Storms  came 
to  mar  her  happiness,  she  thrust  it  away,  still  murmur 
ing,  "  He  loves  me.  He  loves  me." 


J  U  DITH.  65 

After  a  time  she  began  to  reason,  to  wonder  that  this 
one  man,  to  whom  the  giving  of  her  childish  admiration 
had  seemed  an  unpardonable  liberty,  could  have  thought 
of  her  at  all,  except  as  he  might  give  a  moment's  atten 
tion  to  the  birds  and  butterflies  that  helped  to  make  the 
old  place  pleasant.  How  could  he — so  handsome,  so 
much  above  all  other  gentlemen  of  his  own  class — 
think  of  her  while  Lady  Rose  was  near  in  all  the  splen 
dor  of  her  beauty  and  the  grace  of  a  high  position  ! 

"  Was  it  that  she  was  also  beautiful  ?  " 

When  this  question  arose  in  her  mind,  Ruth  turned 
upon  her  pillow,  and,  half  ashamed  of  the  movement, 
looked  into  a  small  mirror  that  hung  on  the  opposite 
wall.  What  she  saw  there  brought  a  smile  to  her 
mouth  and  the  flash  of  diamonds  to  the  blackness  of  her 
eyes. 

"  Not  like  the  Lady  Rose/7  she  thought,  "  not  fair  and 
white  like  her ;  but  he  loves  me !  He  loves  me ! " 


CHAPTER    VII. 

JUDITH. 

I)  UTH  JESSUP  was  indeed  more  deeply  pledged  to 
-L  V)  Richard  Storms  than  she  was  herself  aware  of. 
The  old  farmer  and  Jessup  had  been  fast  friends  for 
years  when  these  young  people  were  born,  and  almost 
from  the  first  it  had  become  an  understanding  between 
them  that  their  families  should  be  united  in  these  chil 
dren.  The  two  fathers  had  saved  money  in  their  hard 
working  and  frugal  lives,  which  was  to  lift  the  young 
4 


66  NORSTON'S    REST. 

people  into  a  better  social  class  than  the  parents  had  any 
wish  to  occupy,  and  each  had  managed  to  give  to  his 
child  a  degree  of  education  befitting  the  advancement 
looked  forward  to  in  their  future. 

Young  Richard  had  accepted  this  arrangement  with 
alacrity  when  he  was  old  enough  to  comprehend  its 
advantages,  for,  of  all  the  maidens  in  that  neighborhood, 
Ruth  Jessup  was  the  most  beautiful;  and  what  was 
equally  important  to  him,  even  in  his  boyhood,  the  most 
richly  endowed.  As  for  the  girl  herself,  the  importance 
of  this  arrangement  had  never  been  a  subject  of  serious 
consideration. 

Bright,  gay,  and  happy  in  her  nest-like  home,  she 
accepted  this  lad  as  a  special  playmate  in  her  childhood, 
and  had  no  repugnance  to  his  society  after  that,  so  long 
as  more  serious  things  lay  in  the  distance.  Brought  up 
with  those  habits  of  strict  obedience  so  commendable  in 
the  children  of  English  parents,  she  accepted  without 
question  the  future  that  had  seemed  most  desirable  to 
her  father,  who  loved  her,  as  she  well  knew,  better  than 
anything  on  earth. 

Indeed,  there  had  been  a  time  in  her  immature  youth 
when  the  presence  of  young  Storms  filled  all  the  girlish 
requirements  of  her  life.  Nay,  as  will  sometimes  happen, 
the  very  dash  and  insolence  of  his  character  had  the  charm 
of  power  for  her ;  but  since  then  the  evil  of  his  nature 
had  developed  into  action,  while  her  judgment,  refined 
and  strengthened,  began  to  revolt  from  the  traits  that 
had  seemed  so  bold  and  manly  in  the  boy. 

Jessup  had  himself  been  somewhat  displeased  by  the 
idle  habits  of  the  young  man,  and  had  expostulated  with 
the  father  on  the  subject  so  directly  that  Richard  was 
put  on  a  sort  of  probation  after  his  escapade  at  the  hunt, 


JUDITH.  67 

and  found  his  presence  at  the  gardener's  cottage  less  wel 
come  than  it  had  been,  much  to  his  own  disgust. 

"  I  have  given  up  the  dogs  and  nursed  that  lame  brute 
as  if  I  had  been  his  grandmother — what  more  can  any 
reasonable  man  want  ? "  he  said  one  day  when  Jessup 
had  looked  coldly  on  him. 

"If  you  would  win  favor  with  daughter  Ruth,  my  lad, 
go  less  with  that  gang  at  '  The  Two  Ravens/  and  turn 
a  hand  to  help  the  old  father.  When  that  is  done  there 
will  always  be  a  welcome  for  you ;  but  my  lass  has  no 
mother  to  guide  her,  and  I  must  take  extra  care  that  she 
does  not  match  herself  illy.  Wait  a  while,  and  let  us  see 
the  upshot  of  things." 

"Is  it  that  you  take  back  your  word  ? "  questioned 
Richard,  anxiously. 

"  Take  back  my  word  !  Am  I  a  man  to  ask  that 
question  of?  No,  no;  I  was  glad  about  the  terriers, 
and  shall  not  be  sorry  to  see  you  on  the  back  of  the  horse 
when  he  is  well,  for  he  is  a  fair  hunter  and  worth  money; 
but  daughter  Ruth  has  heard  of  these  things,  and  it'll  be 
well  to  keep  away  for  a  bit  till  they  have  time  to  get  out 
of  her  mind." 

"  I'll  be  sure  to  remember  what  you  say,  and  do  noth 
ing  to  anger  any  one,"  said  Storms,  with  more  concession 
than  Jessup  expected,  and  the  young  man  rode  away 
burning  with  resentment. 

"So  I  am  to  be  put  in  a  corner  with  a  finger  in  my 
mouth  till  this  pretty  sweetheart  of  mine  thinks  fit  to 
call  me  out  of  punishment.  As  if  there  were  no  other 
inn  but  '  The  Two  Ravens/  and  no  other  lass  worth 
making  love  to  but  her !  Now,  that  the  hunter  is  on  his 
feet  again,  I'll  take  care  that  she'll  know  little  of  what 
I  am  doing." 


68 

This  conversation  happened  a  few  days  after  the  hunt. 
Since  that  time  Storms  had  never  been  heard  of  at  the 
"Two  Ravens/7  and  his  name  had  begun  to  be  mentioned 
with  respect  in  the  village,  much  to  Jessup's  satisfaction. 

Occasionally,  however,  the  young  man  was  seen  mounted 
on  the  hunter,  and  dressed  like  a  gentleman,  riding  off 
into  the  country  on  business  for  his  father.  The  people 
who  met  him  believed  this,  and  they  gave  him  credit  for 
the  change  that  a  few  weeks  had  wrought. 

Was  it  instinct  in  the  animal,  or  premeditation  in  his 
rider  that  turned  the  hunter  upon  the  old  track  the  first 
time  he  was  taken  from  the  stable  ?  Certain  it  is  that 
Richard  Storms  rode  him  leisurely  up  the  long  hill  and 
by  the  lane  which  led  to  the  dilapidated  house  he  had 
visited  on  the  day  of  his  misfortune,  but  without  calling 
at  the  house. 

After  he  had  pursued  this  course  a  week  or  more, 
riding  slowly  in  full  view  of  the  porch,  until  he  was  cer 
tain  that  one  of  its  inmates  had  seen  him,  he  turned  from 
the  road  one  day,  left  his  horse  under  a  chestnut  tree 
that  grew  in  the  lane,  and  sauntered  down  the  weedy 
path  toward  the  house. 

Looking  eagerly  forward,  he  saw  Judith  Hart  in  the 
porch.  She  was  standing  on  a  small  wooden  bench,  with 
both  arms  uplifted  and  bare  to  the  shoulders.  Evidently 
the  unpruned  vines  had  broken  loose,  and  she  was  tying 
them  up  again. 

As  she  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs  the  girl  stooped  down 
and  looked  through  the  vines  with  eager  curiosity. 

She  jumped  down  from  the  bench  as  she  recognized 
the  young  man,  a  vivid  flush  of  color  coming  into  her 
face  and  a  sparkle  of  gladness  in  her  eyes.  If  he  had 
forgotten  that  day  when  the  first  cup  of  milk  was  given, 
she  had  not. 


JUDITH.  69 

At  first  a  smile  parted  her  red  lips ;  then  a  sullen 
cloud  came  over  her,  and  she  turned  her  back,  as  if  about 
to  enter  the  house,  at  which  he  laughed  inly,  and  walked 
a  little  faster  until  a  new  mood  came  over  her,  and  she 
stood  shyly  before  him  on  the  porch,  playing  with  the 
vine  leaves,  a  little  roughly ;  yet,  under  all  this  affecta 
tion,  she  was  deeply  agitated. 

"  I  have  come,"  he  said,  mounting  the  broken  steps  of 
the  porch,  "  for  another  glass  of  water.  You  look  cross, 
and  would  not  give  me  a  cup  of  milk  if  I  asked  for  it 
ever  so  humbly." 

"There  is  water  in  the  well,  if  you  choose  to  draw  it," 
answered  the  girl,  turning  her  face  defiantly  upon  him. 
"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  the  other." 

"And  about  me  too,  I  dare  say?" 

"  You  !  Ah,  now,  that  I  look  again,  you  have  been 
here  before.  One  cannot  remember  forever." 

Storms  might  have  been  deceived  but  for  the  swift 
blushes  that  swept  that  face,  and  the  smile  that  would 
not  be  suppressed. 

"  I  have  been  so  busy,"  he  said ;  "  and  this  is  an  out- 
of-the-way  place." 

Out-of-the-way  place!  Why,  Judith  had  seen  him 
ride  by  a  dozen  times  without  casting  his  eyes  toward 
the  poor  house  she  lived  in,  and  each  time  with  a  swift 
pang  at  the  heart ;  but  she  would  have  died  rather  than 
let  him  know  it,  having  a  fair  amount  of  pride  in  her 
nature,  crude  as  it  was. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  she  said,  after  an  awkward 
pause. 

The  young  man  lifted  his  hat  and  accepted  this  half- 
rude  invitation. 

He  did  draw  water  from  the  well  that  day,  while  Judith 


70  NORSTON'S    REST. 

stood  by  with  a  glass  in  her  hand,  exulting  while  she 
watched  him  toil  at  the  windlass,  as  she  had  done  when 
he  asked  for  a  drink.  Some  vague  idea  of  a  woman's 
dignity  had  found  exaggerated  development  since  that 
time  in  Judith's  nature,  and  though  she  dipped  the  water 
from  the  bucket,  and  held  it  sparkling  toward  him,  it 
was  with  the  air  of  an  Indian  princess,  scorning  toil,  but 
offering  hospitality.  She  was  piqued  with  the  man,  and 
would  not  seem  too  glad  that  he  had  come  back  again. 

"  There  is  no  water  in  all  the  valley  like  that  in  your 
well/'  he  said,  draining  the  glass  and  giving  it  back 
with  a  smile ;  "  no  view  so  beautiful  as  that  which  strikes 
the  river  yonder  and  looks  up  the  gorge.  There  must 
be  pleasant  walks  in  that  direction." 

"  There  the  river  is  awful  deep,  and  a  precipice  shelves 
over  it  ever  so  high.  I  love  to  sit  there  sometimes, 
though  it  makes  most  people  dizzy." 

"Some  day  you  will  show  me  the  place?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  found  easy  enough.  A  foot-path  is  worn 
through  the  orchard.  Everybody  knows  the  way." 

"  Still,  I  shall  come  to-morrow,  and  you  will  show  it 
to  me?" 

The  color  rose  in  Judith's  face. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  I  shall  have  work  to  do." 

There  was  pride,  as  well  as  a  dash  of  coquetry,  in  this. 
Judith  resented  the  time  that  had  been  lost,  and  the  for- 
getfulness  that  had  wounded  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  seeming  indifference  that  inspired 
new  admiration  in  the  young  man.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
unusual  bloom  of  beauty  dawning  upon  her  that 
reminded  him  vividly  of  Kuth  Jessup ;  for  the  same 
richness  of  complexion  was  there — the  dark  eyes  and 
heavy  tresses  with  that  remarkable  purple  tinge  that  one 


WAITING     FOB      HIM.  71 

sees  but  once  or  twice  in  a  lifetime.  Certain  it  is, 
he  came  again,  and  from  that  time  the  change  in  Judith, 
body  and  soul,  grew  positive,  like  the  swift  develop 
ment  of  a  tropical  plant. 


CHAPTER    VIIi: 

WAITING     FOB     HIM. 

TUDITH  stood  within  her  father's  porch  once  more — 
*-*  this  time  leaning  forward  eagerly,  shading  her  eyes 
with  one  hand,  and  looking  from  under  it  in  an  attitude 
of  intense  expectation. 

As  she  waited  there,  with  fire  on  her  cheeks  and  long 
ing  in  her  eyes,  the  change  that  a  few  months  had  made 
was  marvellous.  Those  eyes,  at  first  boldly  bright,  were 
now  like  velvet  or  fire,  as  tenderness  or  passion  filled 
them.  She  had  grown  taller,  more  graceful,  perhaps  a 
little  less  vigorous  in  her  movements ;  but  in  spirit  and 
person  the  girl  was  vividly  endowed  with  all  that  an 
artist  would  have  desired  for  a  picture  of  her  own  scrip 
tural  namesake  Judith. 

This  question  was  on  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes :  "  Will 
he  come  alone  ?  Oh,  will  he  come  alone?" 

Was  it  her  father  she  was  watching  for,  and  did  she 
wish  him  to  come  alone?  If  she  expected  that,  why 
were  those  scarlet  poppies  burning  in  the  blackness  of 
her  hair?  Why  had  she  put  on  that  chintz  dress  with 
tufts  of  wild  flowers  glowing  on  a  maroon  ground? — all 
cheap  in  themselves,  but  giving  richness  of  color  to 
match  that  of  her  person.  Her  father  had  gone  to  be4 


72  NORSTON'S    REST. 

supperless  one  night  because  the  money  for  that  knot  of 
red  ribbon  on  her  bosom  had  been  paid  to  a  pedlar  who 
cajoled  her  into  the  purchase. 

Evidently  some  one  besides  the  toiling  old  man  was 
expected.  Judith  never  in  her  life  had  waited  so 
anxiously  for  him.  There  was  a  table  set  out  in  the 
room  she  had  left,  on  which  a  white  cloth  was  spread ; 
a  glass  dish  of  blackberries  stood  on  this  table,  and 
by  it  a  pitcher-full  of  milk,  mantled  temptingly  with 
cream. 

Does  any  one  suppose  that  Judith  had  arranged  all  this 
for  the  father  whom  she  had  sent  supperless  to  bed  only 
a  few  days  before,  because  of  her  longing  for  the  ribbon 
that  flamed  on  her  bosom  ? 

No,  no;  Kichard  Storms  had  made  good  use  of  his 
opportunities.  Kiding  his  blood-horse,  or  walking 
leisurely,  he  had  mounted  that  hill  almost  every  day 
since  his  second  visit  to  the  old  house. 

I  have  said  that  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in 
Judith's  person.  Indeed,  there  was  something  in  her 
face  that  startled  you.  Until  a  few  months  since  her 
deepest  feelings  had  been  aroused  by  some  sensational 
romance;  but  now  all  the  poetry,  all  the  imagination 
and  rude  force  of  her  nature  were  concentrated  in  a  first 
grand  passion.  Females  like  Judith,  left  to  stray  into 
life  untaught  and  unchecked — through  the  fervor  of 
youth — inspired  by  ideas  that  spring  out  of  their  own 
boundless  ignorance,  sometimes  startle  one  with  a  sudden 
development  of  character. 

As  a  tropical  sun  pours  its  warmth  into  the  bosom  of 
an  orange  tree,  ripening  its  fruit  before  the  blossoms  fall, 
first  love  had  awakened  the  strong,  even  reckless  nature 
of  this  girl,  and  inspired  all  the  latent  elements  of  a 


WAITING     FOR     HIM.  73 

character  formed  like  the  garden  in  which  we  first  saw 
her,  where  fruit,  weeds,  and  flowers  struggled  for  life 
together.  Without  method  or  culture,  these  elements 
concentrated  to  mar  or  brighten  her  future  life. 

For  a  while  after  that  second  visit  of  Storms,  Judith 
had  held  her  independence  bravely.  When  the  young 
man  came,  she  was  full  of  quaint  devices  for  his  entertain 
ment,  bantering  him  all  the  time  with  good-natured 
audacity,  which  he  liked.  She  took  long  rambles  with 
him  down  the  hillside,  rather  proud  that  the  neighbors 
should  witness  her  conquest,  but  without  a  fear,  or 
even  thought,  of  the  scandal  it  might  occasion. 

Sometimes  they  sat  hours  together  under  the  orchard- 
trees,  where  she  would  weave  daisy-chains  or  impatiently 
tear  up  the  grass  around  her  as  he  became  tender  or 
tantalizing  in  his  speech. 

For  a  time  her  voice — a  deep,  rich  contralto — filled 
the  whole  house  as  it  went  ringing  to  and  fro,  like  the 
joyous  out-gush  of  a  mocking-bird,  for  in  that  way 
she  gave  expression  to  the  pride  and  glory  that  possessed 
her. 

The  girl  told  her  father  nothing  of  this,  but  kept  it 
hoarded  in  her  heart  with  the  secret  of  her  novel-reading. 
But  he  saw  that  she  grew  brighter  and  more  cheerful 
every  day,  that  her  curt  manner  toward  himself  had 
become  almost  caressing,  and  that  the  house  had  never 
been  so  well  cared  for  before.  So  he  thanked  God  for 
the  change,  and  went  to  his  work  more  cheerfully. 

No,  it  was  not  for  the  old  father  that  worshipped  her 
that  Judith  stood  on  the  porch  that  day.  The  meagre 
affection  she  felt  for  him  was  as  nothing  to  the  one  grand 
passion  that  had  swallowed  up  everything  but  the  intense 
self-love  that  it  had  warmed  into  unwholesome  vigor. 


74  HOUSTON'S    BEST. 

She  was  only  watching  for  her  father  because  of  her 
hope  that  another  and  a  clearer  one  was  coming  with  him. 

"  Dear  me,  it  seems  as  if  the  sun  would  never  set ! " 
she  exclaimed,  stepping  impatiently  down  from  the 
wooden  stool.  "  What  shall  I  do  till  they  come  ?  I 
wonder,  now,  if  there  would  be  time  to  run  out  and  pick 
a  few  more  berries  ?  The  dish  isn't  more  than  half  full, 
and  father  hinted  that  some  were  getting  ripe  on  the 
bushes  by  the  lower  wall.  IVe  a  good  mind  to  go  and 
see.  I  hate  to  have  them  look  skimpy  in  the  dish.  Any 
way  I'll  just  get  my  sun-bonnet  and  try.  Father  seemed 
to  think  that  I  might  pick  them  for  our  tea.  As  if  I'd 
a-gone  out  in  the  hot  sun  for  the  best  father  that  ever 
lived !  But  let  him  think  so  if  he  wants  to.  One  may 
as  well  please  the  poor  old  soul  once  in  a  while." 

Judith  went  into  the  kitchen,  took  a  bowl  from  the 
table,  and  hurried  down  toward  the  orchard-fence,  where 
she  found  some  wild  bushes  clambering  up  the  stonework, 
laden  with  fruit.  A  flock  of  birds  fluttered  out  from  the 
bushes  at  her  approach,  each  with  his  bill  stained  blood- 
red  and  his  feathers  in  commotion. 

Judith  laughed  at  their  musical  protests,  and  fell 
to  picking  the  ripe  berries,  staining  her  own  lips  with 
the  largest  and  juciest  now  and  then,  as  if  to  tantalize 
the  little  creatures,  who  watched  her  longingly  from  the 
boughs  of  a  neighboring  apple  tree. 

All  at  once  a  shadow  fell  upon  the  girl,  who  looked 
up  and  saw  that  the  golden  sunshine  was  dying  out  from 
the  orchard. 

"Dear  me,  they  may  come  any  minute!"  she  said, 
shaking  up  the  berries  in  her  bowl.  "A  pretty  fix  I 
should  be  in  then,  with  my  mouth  all  stained  up  and  my 
hair  every  which  way  ;  but  it  is  just  like  me  ! " 


THE     NEXT     NEIGHBOR.  75 

Away  the  girl  went,  spilling  her  berries  as  she  ran. 
Leaving  them  in  the  kitchen,  she  hurried  up  to  her  own 
room  and  gave  herself  a  rapid  survey  in  the  little  seven- 
by-nine  looking-glass  that  hung  on  the  wall. 

"Well,  if  it  wasn't  me,  I  should  almost  think  that 
face  was  going  to  be  handsome  one  of  these  days,"  she 
thought,  striving  to  get  a  better  look  at  herself  by  a  not 
ungraceful  bend  of  the  neck.  The  mirror  took  in  her 
head  and  part  of  the  bust  on  which  the  scarlet  ribbon 
flamed.  The  face  was  radiant.  The  eyes  full  of  happy 
light,  smiled  upon  her  until  dimples  began  to  quiver 
about  the  mouth,  and  she  laughed  outright. 

The  beautiful  gipsy  in  the  glass  laughed  too,  at  which 
Judith  darted  away  and  ran  down-stairs  in  swift  haste, 
for  she  heard  footsteps  on  the  porch,  and  her  heart  leaped 
to  meet  them. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE     NEXT     NEIGHBOR. 

PANTING   for  breath,   radiant   with   hope,  Judith 
flung  the  door  open. 

A  woman  stood  upon  the  porch,  looking  tip  at  a  wren 
that  was  shooting  in  and  out  among  the  vines,  chirping 
and  fluttering  till  all  the  blossoms  seemed  alive. 

Judith  fell  back  with  a  hostile  gesture,  holding  the 

door  in  her  hand.     "Is  it  you?"  she  asked,  curtly  enough. 

"  Just   me,  and  nobody  else/'  answered    the  woman, 

quite  indifferent  to  the  frowns  on  that  young  face.    "  Hur- 


76 

ried  through  my  work  early,  and  thought  I'd  just  run 
over  and  see  how  you  got  along." 

"  Oh,  I  am  doing  well  enough." 

"But  you  never  come  round  to  see  us  now.  Neigh 
bors  like  us  ought  to  be  a  little  more  sociable." 

"  I've  had  a  great  deal  to  attend  to,"  answered  Judith, 
still  holding  on  to  the  door. 

"Nothing  particular  just  now,  is  there?  Got  nobody 
inside  that  you'd  rather  a  next-door  neighbor  shouldn't 
see — have  you?"  questioned  the  woman,  with  a  keen 
flash  of  displeasure  in  her  eyes. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Parsons?" 

"  Oh,  nothing ;  only  I  ought  to  know  that  chintz  dresses 
of  the  best,  and  red  ribbons  fluttering  around  one  like 
butterflies,  ain't,  as  a  general  thing,  put  on  for  run-in 
callers  such  as  I  am.  I  begin  to  think,  Judith,  that  what 
everybody  is  saying  has  more  truth  in  it  than  I,  as  an 
old  friend,  would  ever  allow." 

Judith  turned  as  if  to  close  the  door  and  shut  the  in 
truder  out;  for  the  girl  was  so  angry  and  disappointed 
that  she  did  not  even  attempt  to  govern  her  actions. 
The  woman  had  more  patience. 

"Don't  do  that,  Judith;  don't,  now;  for  you  will  be 
shutting  that  door  in  the  face  of  the  best  friend  you've 
got — one  that  comes  kindly  to  say  her  say  to  your  face, 
but  stands  up  for  you  through  thick  and  thin  behind 
your  back ! " 

"Stands  up  for  me!  What  for?"  questioned  the  girl, 
haughtily,  but  checking  a  swift  movement  to  cover  the 
knot  of  ribbon  with  her  hand.  "What  is  it  to  you  or 
any  one  else  what  I  wear?" 

"  Oh,  nothing — nothing ;  of  course  not ;  only,  having 
no  mother  to  look  after  you,  some  of  the  neighbors  feel 


THE     NEXT     NEIGHBOR.  77 

anxious,  and  the  rest  talk  dreadfully.  I  have  eyes  as  well 
as  other  people,  but  I  never  told  a  mortal  how  often  I 
have  seen  you  and — you  know  who — sitting  in  the  or 
chard,  hours  on  hours,  when  the  old  man  was  out  to 
work.  That  isn't  my  way  ;  but  other  people  have  eyes, 
and  the  best  of  'em  will  talk." 

Judith's  face  was  crimson  now,  and  her  black  eyes 
shot  fire  ;  but  she  forced  herself  to  laugh. 

"  Well,  let  them  talk  ;  little  I  care  about  it ! " 

"  But  you  ought  to  care,  Judith  Hart,  if  it's  only  for 
your  father's  sake.  Somebody'll  be  telling  him,  next." 

A  look  of  affright  broke  through  the  fire  in  Judith's 
eyes,  and  her  voice  was  somewhat  subdued  as  she  an 
swered  : 

"  But  what  can  they  tell  him  or  any  one  else  ?  Come 
in  and  tell  me  what  they  say ;  not  that  I  care,  only  for 
the  fun  of  laughing  at  it.  Come  in,  Mrs.  Parsons  I" 

Mrs.  Parsons  stepped  within  the  hall  and  sat  down  in 
the  only  chair  it  contained,  when  she  took  off  her  sun- 
bonnet  and  commenced  to  fan  herself  with  it,  for  the 
good  woman  was  heated  both  by  her  walk  across  the 
fields  and  the  curbed  anger  which  Judith's  rudeness  had 
inspired. 

"  Laugh  ! "  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  reckon  you'll  laugh 
out  of  the  other  side  of  your  mouth  one  of  these  days ! 
Talk  like  this  isn't  a  thing  that  you  or  your  father  can 
afford  to  put  up  with." 

"  People  had  better  let  my  father  alone !  He  is  as 
good  a  man  as  ever  lived,  every  inch  of  him,  if  he  does 
go  out  to  days'  work  for  a  living ! " 

"  That  he  is  ! "  rejoined  Mrs.  Parsons ;  "  which  is  the 
reason  why  no  one  has  told  him  what  was  going  on." 

"But  what  is  going  on?"  questioned  Judith,  with  an 


78 

air  that  would  have  been  disdainful  but  for  the  keen 
anxiety  that  broke  through  all  her  efforts. 

"  That  which  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  I  will 
speak  of.  The  young  man  who  stops  each  week  at 
the  public-house  yonder  comes  up  the  hill  too  often ; 
people  have  begun  to  watch  for  him,  and  the  talk  grows 
stronger  every  day.  I  don't  join  in ;  but  most  of  the 
neighbors  seem  to  think  that  you  are  on  the  highway  to 
destruction,  and  are  bound  to  break  your  father's  heart." 

"Indeed!"  sneered  Judith,  white  with  wrath. 

"They  say  the  young  fellow  left  a  bad  character  be 
hind  him,  and  that  his  visits  mean  no  good  to  any  hon 
est  girl,  especially  a  poor  workingman's  child,  who  lives 
from  hand  to  mouth." 

"  Does  my  father  owe  them  anything  ? "  demanded 
Judith,  fiercely. 

"  Not  as  I  know  of;  but  the  long  and  the  short  of  it 
is,  Judith,  people  will  talk  so  long  as  that  person  keeps 
coming  here.  A  girl  without  a  mother  can't  spend  hours 
on  hours  with  a  strange  young  man  without  having 
awful  things  said  about  her ;  that's  what  I  came  to  warn 
you  of." 

"  There  was  no  need  of  coining.  Of  course,  I  expected 
all  the  girls  to  be  jealous,  and  their  mothers,  too,  because 
Mr.  Storms  passed  their  doors  without  calling,"  answered 
Judith. 

"That  is  just  where  it  is.  People  say  that  the  father 
is  a  fore-handed  man,  and  keeps  half  a  dozen  hands  to 
work  on  his  place.  This  young  fellow  is  an  only  son. 
Now,  is  it  likely,  Judith,  that  he  means  anything  straight 
forward  in  coming  here  so  much?" 

Mrs.  Parsons  said  this  with  a  great  deal  of  motherly 
feeling,  which  was  entirely  thrown  away  upon  Judith, 


THE     NEXT     NEIGHBOR.  79 

who  felt  the  sting  of  her  words  through  all  the  kindness 
of  their  utterance. 

"As  if  Mr.  Storms  was  not  old  enough  and  clever 
enough  to  choose  for  himself,"  she  said. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  it,  Judith.  Every  one  is  saying 
that,  after  making  his  choice,  he's  no  business  coming 
here  to  fasten  scandal  on  you." 

"  It  isn't  he  that  fastens  scandal  on  me,  but  the  vile 
tongues  of  the  neighbors,  that  are  always  flickering  venom 
on  some  one.  So  it  may  as  well  be  me  as  another.  I'm 
only  astonished  that  they  will  allow  that  he  has  made  a 
choice." 

"  Made  a  choice  !  Why,  everybody  knows,  that  he's 
engaged  to  be  married  ! " 

"  Engaged  to  be  married  ! " 

A  rush  of  hot  color  swept  Judith's  face  as  these  words 
broke  from  her  lips,  but  to  retreat  slowly,  leaving  a  cold 
pallor  behind. 

"Just  that.  Engaged  to  be  married  to  a  girl  who 
lives  neighbor  to  his  father's  place — one  who  has  plenty 
of  money  coming  and  wonderful  good  looks,"  said  the 
woman. 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  I  know  better !  There  isn't  a 
word  of  truth  in  what  any  of  them  says,"  retorted  Judith, 
with  fierce  vehemence,  while  a  baleful  fire  broke  into 
her  eyes  that  fairly  frightened  her  visitor. 

"  Well,  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Every  word  may 
be  a  slander,  for  anything  I  know." 

"  It  is  a  slander,  I'll  stake  my  life  on  it — a  mean,  base 
slander,  got  up  out  of  spite  ?  But  who  said  it  ?  Where 
did  the  story  come  from  ?  I  want  to  know  that !" 

"  Oh,  people  are  constantly  going  back  and  forth  from 
1  Norston's  Best,'  who  put  up  at  the  public-house  at  the 


80  NORSTON'S    REST. 

foot  of  the  hill,  where  he  leaves  his  horse.  All  agree 
in  saying  the  same  thing.  Then  the  young  man  himself 
only  smiles  when  he  is  asked  about  it." 

"  Of  course,  he  would  smile.  I  don't  see  how  he  could 
keep  from  laughing  outright  at  such  talk." 

Notwithstanding  her  disdainful  words,  Judith  was 
greatly  disturbed.  The  color  had  faded  even  from  her 
lips.  Her  young  life  knew  its  keenest  pang  when  jeal 
ousy,  with  one  swift  leap,  took  possession  of  her  heart  and 
soul  and  tortured  them.  But  the  girl  was  fiery  and  brave 
even  in  her  anguish.  She  would  not  yield  to  it  in  the 
presence  of  her  visitor,  who  might  watch  and  report. 

"  They  tell  you  that  my  father  does  not  know  when 
Mr.  Storms  comes  here.  That,  you  will  find,  is  false  as 
the  rest.  He  is  coming  home  with  father  this  afternoon. 
I  thought  it  was  them  when  you  came  in.  Look,  I 
have  just  set  out  the  table.  "Wait  a  while,  and  you  will 
see  them  coming  down  the  lane  together." 

Judith  flung  open  the  parlor-door  as  she  spoke,  and 
Mrs.  Parsons  went  in.  Never  had  that  room  taken  such 
an  air  of  neatness  within  the  good  woman's  memory. 
The  table-cloth  was  spotless ;  the  china  unmatched,  but 
brightly  clean  ;  the  uncarpeted  floor  had  been  scoured 
and  the  cobwebs  were  all  swept  away.  The  open  fire 
place  was  crowded  with  leaves  and  coarse  garden  flowers. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  that  I  can  say  that  much,  anyway," 
said  the  good  woman,  looking  around  with  no  little 
admiration.  "  What  a  nack  you  have  got,  Judith ! 
Just  to  think  that  a  few  branches  from  the  hedge  can  do 
all  that!  I'll  go  right  home  and  tell  my  girls  about  it." 

"  Not  yet — not  till  you  have  seen  father  and  Mr. 
Storms  come  in  to  tea,  as  they  are  sure  to  do  before  long. 
The  neighbors  are  so  anxious  to  know  about  it  that  I 
want  them  to  have  it  from  good  authority." 


THE     NEXT     NEIGHBOR.  81 

Judith  had  not  recovered  from  her  first  exasperation, 
and  spoke  defiantly,  not  at  all  restrained  by  a  latent  fear 
that  her  father  might  come  alone. 

Mrs.  Parsons  had  made  her  way  to  a  window,  where 
the  wren  she  had  taken  so  much  interest  in  was  twitter 
ing  joyously  among  the  vine-leaves. 

The  great  anxiety  that  possessed  Judith  drew  her  to 
the  window  also,  where  she  stood  trembling  with  dread 
and  burning  with  wrath.  She  had  been  informed  before 
that  damaging  rumors  were  abroad  with  regard  to  Storms' 
stolen  visits,  and  it  was  agreed  upon  between  her  and  the 
young  man  that  he  should  in  some  natural  way  seek  out 
old  Mr.  Hart,  and  thus  obtain  a  legitimate  right  to  visit 
the  house. 

The  expectation  of  his  coming  that  very  afternoon  had 
induced  Judith  to  brighten  up  her  dreary  old  home  with  so 
much  care,  and  would  make  her  triumph  only  the  greater 
if  Mrs.  Parsons  was  present  to  witness  his  approach. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  it  is  father  and  Mr.  Storms  I  am 
expecting  to  tea,  You  can  see  with  your  own  eyes  what 
friends  they  are." 

Mrs.  Parsons  was  not  so  deficient  in  curiosity  that  she 
did  not  look  eagerly  through  the  vine-leaves,  even  hold 
ing  them  apart  with  her  own  hands  to  obtain  a  good 
view.  She  saw  two  persons  coming  down  the  lane,  as 
opposite  in  appearance  as  creatures  of  the  same  race  could 
be.  Young  Storms  walked  vigorously,  swinging  his  cane 
in  one  hand  or  dashing  off  the  head  of  a  thistle  with  it 
whenever  those  stately  wild-flowers  tempted  him  with 
their  imperial  purple. 

To  the  old  man  who  came  toiling  after  him  this  reck 
less  destruction  seemed  a  cruel  enjoyment.  His  gentle 
nature  shrunk  from  every  blow,  as  if  the  poor  flowers 


82  NORSTONS     REST. 

could  feel  and  suffer  under  those  cruel  lacerations.  He 
could  not  have  been  induced  to  break  the  smallest  blos 
som  from  its  roots  in  that  ruthless  fashion,  but  tore  up 
unseemly  weeds  in  the  garden  gently  and  with  a  sort  of 
compassion,  for  the  tenderness  of  his  nature  reached  the 
smallest  thing  that  God  has  made. 

A  slight  man  loaded  down  with  hard  work,  stooping 
in  the  shoulders,  walking  painfully  beyond  his  usual 
speed,  Hart  appeared  as  he  struggled  to  keep  up  with 
young  Storms,  who  knew  that  he  was  weary  and  too  old 
for  the  toil  that  had  worn  him  out,  but  never  once  offered 
to  check  his  own  steps  or  wait  for  him  to  take  breath. 

"  Yes,  it  is  father  and  Mr.  Storms.  You  can  tell  the 
neighbors  that ;  and  tell  them  from  me  that  he'll  come 
again,  just  as  long  as  he  wants  to,  and  we  want  to  have 
him,"  said  Judith,  triumphantly. 

"  I'll  tell  the  neighbors  what  I  have  seen,  and  nothing 
more,"  answered  the  woman.  "  There's  not  one  of  them 
that  wishes  you  any  harm." 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not !"  was  the  mocking  answer. 
The  woman  shook  her  head,  half  sorrowful,  half  in 
anger. 

"  Well,  Judith,  I  won't  say  another  word,  now  I  see 
that  your  father  knows;  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  he  has 
found  out  something  better  about  the  young  man  than 
any  of  us  has  heard  of  yet." 

Mrs.  Parsons  tied  her  bonnet  as  she  spoke,  and  casting 
a  wistful  look  on  the  table,  hesitated,  as  if  waiting  for  an. 
invitation  to  remain. 

But  Judith  was  too  much  excited  for  any  thought  of 
such  hospitality ;  so  the  woman  went  away  more  angry 
than  she  had  ever  been  with  that  motherless  girl 
before. 


JEALOUS     PASSIONS.  83 

The  moment  she  was  gone  Judith  took  her  bowl  of 
blackberries,  emptied  them  into  the  glass  dish,  heaping 
them  unevenly  on  one  side  to  conceal  a  crack  in  the  glass, 
then  ran  into  the  hall,  for  she  heard  footsteps  on  the 
porch,  and  her  father's  voice  inviting  some  one  to 
walk  in. 


CHAPTEE   X. 

JEALOUS     PASSIONS. 

M  "TTT"ALK  in,  Mr.  Storms.  Judith  will  be  some- 
V  V  where  about.  Oh,  here  she  is  !" 

Yes,  there  she  was,  lighting  up  the  bare  hall  with  the 
rosy  glow  of  her  smiles,  which,  sullen  as  she*  strove  to 
make  them,  beamed  upon  the  visitor  quite  warmly  enough 
to  satisfy  his  insatiate  vanity. 

"  Daughter,  this  is  Mr.  Storms,  a  young  gentleman 
from  the  neighborhood  of  'Norston's  Rest/  come  up  the 
valley  on  business.  He  was  kind  enough  to  walk  along 
the  hill  with  me  after  I  got  through  work,  and  when  I 
told  him  of  the  view,  he  wanted  to  see  it  from  the  house." 

Neither  of  the  young  people  gave  the  slightest  sign 
that  they  had  met  before.  Judith's  smile  turned  to  an 
inward  laugh  as  she  made  a  dashing  courtesy,  and  gave 
the  young  man  her  hand  the  moment  her  father's  back 
was  turned. 

Storms  might  have  kissed  the  hand,  while  the  old  man 
was  hanging  up  his  hat,  but  was  far  too  prudent  for  any 
thing  of  the  kind,  though  he  saw  a  resentful  cloud 
gathering  on  the  girl's  face. 


84  NORSTON'S    REST. 

The  old  man  gave  a  quiet  signal  to  Judith  that  she 
should  stop  a  moment  for  consultation,  while  their  visitor 
went  out  of  the  back-door,  as  if  tempted  by  a  glimpse  of 
the  scenery  in  that  direction. 

"  I  couldn't  help  asking  him  in,  daughter,  so  you  must 
make  the  best  of  it.  Is  there  anything  in  the  house — 
anything  for  tea,  I  mean?  No  butter,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes,  there  is ;  I  churned  this  morning." 

"  You  churned  this  morning !  Why,  what  has  come 
over  you,  daughter?" 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  fuss  about  a  little  churning !  As 
if  I'd  never  done  as  much  before !  " 

The  old  man  was  so  well  pleased  that  he  did  not  hint 
that  butter,  made  in  his  own  house,  seemed  like  a  miracle 
to  him. 

"  But  bread — when  did  we  have  a  baking;?" 

o 

"  No  matter  about  that.  There  are  plenty  of  cakes, 
raised  with  eggs,  too." 

"  That's  capital,"  said  the  old  man,  throwing  off  a  load 
of  anxiety  that  had  oppressed  him  all  the  way  home. 
"  We  shall  get  along  famously.  The  young  man  has  got 
uncommon  education,  you  see,  Judith,  and  it  isn't  often 
that  I  get  a  chance  to  talk  with  any  one  given  to  reading ; 
so  I  want  you  to  make  things  extra  nice.  Now  I'll  go 
and  see  what  can  be  found  on  the  bushes." 

"  I've  picked  all  the  berries,  and  got  them  in  the  dish, 
father." 

"Why,  Judith!" 

"  You  asked  me  to,  or  as  good  as  that,  so  there's  nothing 
to  wonder  at." 

The  old  man  drew  a  deep  breath.  A  little  kindness 
was  enough  to  make  him  happy,  but  this  was  over 
powering. 


JEALOUS     PASSIONS.  85 

"So  you  picked  ?em  for  the  old  man  just  as  if  Tie  were 
company,  clear  child  ! — dressed  up  for  him,  too  !  " 

Judith  blushed  guiltily.  Her  poor  father  was  so  easily 
deceived,  that  she  felt  ashamed  of  so  many  unnecessary 
falsehoods. 

"I  dressed  up  a  little  because  I  wanted  to  be  like 
other  girls." 

"  I  wish  you  could  be  more  like  other  girls,"  said  the 
father,  sighing,  this  time  heavily  enough ;  "  but  it's  of 
no  use  wishing,  is  it,  child  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  use  in  it.  If  it 
were  not  for  hoping  and  wishing  and  dreaming  day 
dreams,  how  could  one  live  in  this  stupid  place  ?  " 

The  old  man  looked  at  his  child  wistfully.  It  was  so 
many  years  since  he  had  known  a  day-dream,  that  the 
idea  bewildered  him. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  I  was  young,"  he  said  ;  "so  very 
long.  Perhaps  I  had  them  once,  but  I'm  not  sure — I'm 
not  sure." 

"  I'm  sure  that  the  cakes  will  burn  up  if  I  stand  here 
any  longer,"  said  Judith,  on  whom  the  sad  pathos  of  her 
father's  words  made  no  impression.  "  I'll  put  them  on 
the  table  at  once.  Call  your  friend  in  before  they  get 
heavy." 

When  the  old  man  came  in  with  Storms,  he  found 
Judith  standing  by  the  table,  which  she  was  surveying 
with  no  little  pride.  Unusual  attempts  had  been  made 
to  decorate  the  room.  The  fireplace  was  turned  into  a 
tiny  bower  fairly  set  afire  by  ajar  crowded  full  of  great 
golden-hearted  marigolds,  that  glowed  through  the  soft 
greenness  like  flame. 

All  this  surprised  and  delighted  the  old  man.  He 
turned  with  childlike  admiration  from  the  fireplace  to 


REST. 

the  table,  and  from  that  to  his  daughter,  who  was  now 
casting  stolen  and  anxious  glances  into  the  old  mirror 
opposite,  over  which  was  woven  more  delicate  flowers, 
with  the  sprays  of  some  feathery  plant,  heavy  and  rich 
with  coral  berries  that  scattered  themselves  in  reflection 
on  the  glass. 

The  room  was  cool  with  shadows,  but  swift  arrows  of 
gold  came  shooting  from  the  sunset  through  the  thick 
vines,  and  broke  here  and  there  upon  the  floor,  giving  a 
soft  glow  to  the  atmosphere  which  was  not  heat. 

The  old  man  glanced  at  all  this  very  proudly,  and 
when  one  of  these  arrows  was  shivered  in  his  daughter's 
hair  he  sat  fondly  admiring  her;  for  to  him  she  was 
wonderfully  beautiful. 

Young  Storms  looked  at  her  also,  with  a  little  distrust. 
There  was  something  unnatural  in  her  high  color  and  in 
the  dashing  nervousness  of  her  movements  as  she  poured 
out  the  tea,  that  aroused  his  interest.  Once  or  twice  she 
fixed  her  eyes  upon  him  in  a  wild,  searching  fashion, 
that  made  even  his  cold  gray  eyes  droop  beneath  their 
lids. 

At  last  they  all  arose  from  the  table  and  gathered 
around  the  window,  looking  out  upon  the  sunset.  It  was 
a  calm  scene,  rich  with  golden  haze  near  the  horizon ; 
while  the  gap  below  was  choked  up  with  purple  shadows 
through  which  the  river  flowed  dimly.  Of  those  three 
persons  by  the  window,  the  old  man  was  perhaps  the 
only  one  who  thoroughly  felt  all  the  poetic  beauty  of  the 
scene ;  even  to  him  the  rural  picture  became  more  com 
plete  when  the  only  cow  he  possessed  came  strolling  up 
to  the  gate,  thus  throwing  in  a  dash  of  life  as  she  waited 
to  be  milked. 

"  I'll  go  out  and  milk  her,"  said  the  old  man.    "  You've 


JEALOUS     PASSIONS.  87 

had  a  good  deal  to  attend  to,  daughter,  and  it  is  no  more 
than  fair  that  I  should  help  a  little." 

Help  a  little !  why  it  was  not  often  that  any  one  else 
went  near  the  poor  beast  for  weeks  together ;  but  the  old 
man  was  pleased  with  all  the  girl  had  done,  and  covered 
her  delinquency  with  this  kindly  craft  as  he  went  into 
the  kitchen  in  search  of  a  pail. 

The  moment  he  was  gone,  Judith  turned  upon  her 
visitor. 

"Let  us  go  down  into  the  orchard;  I  want  to  speak 
with  you,"  she  said. 

"Why  not  here?"  questioned  the  young  man,  who 
instinctively  refused  or  evaded  everything  he  did  not 
himself  propose. 

"Because  he  may  come  back,  and  I  want  to  be  alone — 
quite  alone,"  said  the  girl,  impatiently.  "Come,  I  say!" 
There  was  something  rudely  imperative  in  the  girl's 
manner  that  forced  him  to  go;  but  a  sinister  smile  crept 
over  his  face  as  he  tooK  his  hat  and  followed  her  thiough 
the  back  way  down  to  the  orchard,  over  which  the 
purple  dusk  was  gathering,  though  flashes  of  sunlight 
still  trembled  on  the  hill-tops. 

Judith  did  not  accept  the  half-offered  arm  of  the  young 
man,  but  walked  by  his  side,  her  head  erect,  her  hands 
moving  restlessly,  and  her  black  eyes,  full  of  wistful  fire, 
now  and  then  turning  upon  him. 

She  leaped  over  the  stone  wall  without  help,  though 
Storms  reached  out  his  hand,  and  frowned  darkly  when 
she  refused  it. 

Down  to  an  old  gnarled  tree,  bristling  with  dead  limbs, 
she  led  the  way,  and  halted  under  its  shadows. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  said  Storms,  in  a  cold,  low 
voice.  "  Why  do  you  insist  on  bringing  me  here  ?  " 


88  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"Because  of  something  that  worries  me,"  answered 
Judith,  trembling  all  over ;  "  because  I  want  to  know 
the  truth." 

"  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  girl  in  the  world  who  has  not 
something  to  worry  her?"  said  Storms,  with  smiling 
sarcasm.  "  Well,  now,  what  is  the  trouble  ?  Have  the 
old  magpies  been  picking  you  to  pieces  again?" 

"  No,  it  isn't  that,  but  something — I  know  it  isn't  true; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  never  draw  a  long  breath 
till  you've  told  me  so  over  and  over  again — sworn  to  it." 

A  shade  of  disturbance  gathered  on  the  young  man's 
face,  but  he  looked  at  the  girl,  as  she  spoke,  with  sinister 
coolness. 

"  But  you  do  not  tell  me  what  this  dreadful  thing  13 
that  takes  away  your  breath." 

"I— I  know  it  is  silly— " 

"Of  course ;  but  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  They  tell  me — I  know  it  is  an  awful  falsehood — but 
they  tell  me  that  you  are  engaged  !  " 

"  Well ! " 

"  Well ! — you  say  '  well,'  as  if  it  were  possible !  "  cried 
the  girl,  looking  wildly  into  his  face. 

"All  things  are  possible,  Judith.  But  is  this  the  only 
thing  that  troubles  you  ?  " 

"  Is  not  that  enough — more  than  enough  ?  Why  do 
you  wait  so  long  before  denying  it  ?  Why  do  you  look 
so  dark  and  keen,  as  if  an  answer  to  that  slander  needed 
thought  ?  Why  don't  you  speak  out  ?  " 

"Because  I  want  to  know  everything  that  you  have 
heard  first,  that  I  may  deny  it  altogether." 

"  Then  you  deny  it,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Not  till  I  have  all  the  rest.  When  people  are  down 
on  a  man,  they  do  not  often  stop  at  one  charge.  What 
is  the  next?" 


JEALOUS     PASSIONS.  89 

"Oh,  they  amounted  to  nothing  compared  to  this — 
just  nothing.  Idling  away  time,  spending  money.  I — 
I  don't  remember !  There  was  something,  but  I  took  no 
heed.  This  one  thing  drove  the  rest  out  of  my  mind. 
Now  will  you  answer  me?" 

"Answer  me  a  question  first." 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  ?  Be  quick  !  Have  I  not  told  you 
that  I  cannot  breathe  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  care  about  the  matter  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  care  ?  "  repeated  the  girl,  aghast. 

"Yes;  why  should  you?" 

The  same  love  of  cruelty  that  made  this  man  behead 
thistles  with  his  cane  and  set  dogs  to  tear  each  other, 
influenced  him  now.  He  revelled  in  the  young  creature's 
anguish,  and,  being  an  epicure  in  malice,  sought  to  pro 
long  it. 

How  could  the  girl  answer,  with  so  much  stormy  sur 
prise  choking  back  her  utterance  ?  This  man,  who  had 
spent  so  much  time  with  her,  who  had  flattered  her  as 
if  she  had  been  a  goddess,  whose  very  presence  had  made 
her  the  happiest  creature  on  earth,  was  looking  quietly 
in  her  stormy  face,  and  asking  why  she  should  care  if  he 
were  pledged  to  marry  another ! 

She  could  not  speak,  but  looked  at  him  in  blank  dis 
may,  her  great  black  eyes  wildly  open,  her  lips  quivering 
in  their  whiteness. 

"  You  ask  me  that  ? "  she  said,  at  length,  in  a  low, 
hoarse  voice — "  you  dare  to  ask  me  that,  after — after — " 

"After  what?"  he  said,  with  an  innocent,  questioning 
look,  that  stung  her  like  an  insult. 

The  girl  had  her  voice  now.  Indignation  brought  it 
back.  But  what  could  she  say  ?  In  a  thousand  forms 
that  man  had  expressed  his  love  for  her ;  but  never  once 


90  HOUSTON'S    REST. 

in  direct  words,  such  as  even  a  finer  nature  than  hers 
could  have  fashioned  into  a  direct  claim. 

The  wrathful  agony  in  her  eyes  startled  the  young  man 
from  his  studied  apathy ;  but  before  he  could  reach  out 
his  arms  or  speak,  she  lifted  both  hands  to  her  throat 
and  fled  downward  toward  the  gap. 

This  fierce  outburst  of  passion  startled  the  man  who 
had  so  coolly  aroused  it.  He  sprang  after  the  girl,  over 
took  her  as  she  came  near  the  precipice,  increasing  her 
speed  as  if  she  meant  to  leap  over,  and  seizing  her  by  the 
waist,  swung  her  back  with  a  force  that  almost  threw  her 
to  the  ground. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  he  said,  as  she  stood  before  him, 
fierce  and  panting  for  breath. 

"No/7  she  answered,  drawing  so  close  to  him  that  her 
white  face  almost  touched  his ;  "  but  you  are  worse  than 
that — stark,  staring  mad,  I  tell  you — when  you  expect 
to  even  me  with  any  other  girl." 

"  Even  you  with  any  other  girl ! "  said  Storms,  really 
startled.  "As  if  any  one  ever  thought  of  it!  Why,  one 
would  think  you  never  heard  of  a  joke  before!" 

"A  joke?— a  joke?" 

"Yes,  you  foolish  child,  you  beautiful  fiend — a  joke 
on  my  part,  but  something  more  with  the  miserable  old 
gossips  that  have  gotten  up  stories  to  torment  you.  As 
if  you  had  not  had  enough  of  their  lies  !" 

Judith  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  looked  at  him  with 
all  the  pitiful  intensity  of  a  dumb  animal  recovering 
from  a  blow. 

"  They  seemed  to  be  in  earnest.  They  said  that  you 
were  about  to  marry  some  girl  of  your  mother's  choosing/' 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  That  was  reason  enough  why 
you  should  have  laughed  at  it." 


JEALOUS     PASSIONS.  91 

"  But  you  hesitated.  You  looked  at  me  with  a  wicked 
smile." 

"  No  wonder.   Who  could  help  laughing  at  such  folly?  " 

"  Folly — is  it  folly  ?  Just  now  your  face  is  pale,  but 
when  I  look  at  you  a  hot  red  comes  about  your  eyes.  I 
don't  like  it— I  don't  like  it !  " 

"  Is  it  strange  that  a  sensible  fellow  can't  help  blush 
ing  when  the  girl  he  loves  makes  a  fool  of  herself  ?" 

Judith  looked  in  that  keen,  sinister  face  with  misgiv 
ing;  but  Storms  had  gained  full  command  of  his  counte 
nance  now,  and  met  her  scrutiny  with  a  smile. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said,  "  no  more  of  this  nonsense. 
There  isn't  any  such  girl  as  you  are  dreaming  of  in  the 
world." 

"  Oh,  Richard,  are  you  telling  me  the  truth  ?  "  ques 
tioned  the  girl,  clasping  her  hands,  and  reaching  them 
out  with  a  gesture  of  wild  entreaty. 

"  The  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  on  my  honor 
— on  my  soul ! " 

A  fragment  of  rock  half  imbedded  in  the  earth  lay 
near  Judith.  She  sunk  down  upon  it,  dashed  both 
hands  up  to  her  face,  and  burst  into  a  wild  passion  of 
weeping  that  shook  her  from  head  to  foot. 

The  young  man  stood  apart,  regarding  her  with  min 
gled  astonishment  and  dismay.  Up  to  this  time  she  had 
been  scarcely  more  than  an  overgrown  child  in  his  esti 
mation,  but  this  outgush  of  strength,  wrath,  and  tears 
bespoke  something  sterner  and  more  unmanageable  than 
that — something  that  he  must  appease  and  guard  against, 
or  mischief  might  come  of  it. 

He  approached  her  with  more  of  respect  in  his  man 
ner  than  it  had  ever  exhibited  before,  and  said,  in  a  low, 
conciliatory  tone : 


92  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"  Come,  Judith,  now  that  you  know  this  story  to  be 
all  lies,  what  are  you  crying  about  ?  Don't  you  see  that 
it  is  getting  dark?  What  will  your  father  think?" 

Judith  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and,  taking  his 
arm,  clung  to  it  lovingly  as  she  went  toward  home. 


CHAPTER  XL 

PROTEST    AND    APPEAL. 

**  "TpATHER,  father,  do  not  ask  me  to  meet  him ;  from 

-AJ  the  first  it  was  an  evil  engagement,  broken,  or 
should  have  been.  Why  do  you  wish  to  take  it  up 
again?" 

Ruth  Jessup,  who  made  this  appeal,  stood  in  front  of 
her  father,  who  had  just  told  her  that  it  had  been  ar 
ranged  that  a  speedy  marriage  should  terminate  the 
engagement  with  Richard  Storms — an  engagement  en 
tered  into  when  she  was  scarcely  more  than  a  child. 
"  It  was  high  time  the  thing  was  settled,"  he  said,  "  while 
neighbor  Storms  was  pleased  with  his  son  and  ready  to 
settle  a  handsome  property  on  him.  That,  with  the 
money  that  would  be  hers  in  time,  might  enable  them  to 
move  among  the  best  in  the  neighborhood." 

The  girl  listened  to  all  this  with  a  wild  look  in  her 
face,  half-rebellion,  half-terror.  "  No,"  she  said,  strain 
ing  her  hands  together  in  a  passionate  clasp,  "  you  must 
not  ask  me  to  take  him.  I  could  not  love  him — the  very 
idea  is  dreadful." 

"  But,  girl,  you  are  engaged  to  him.  My  word  is  given 
— my  word  is  given." 


PROTEST     AND     APPEAL.  93 

"  But  only  on  condition,  father — only  on  the  condition 
of  his  amendment." 

"  Well,  the  young  man  has  come  through  his  proba 
tion  like  a  gentleman,  as  he  has  a  right  to  be.  He  just 
rode  by  here  on  his  bay  horse,  as  fine  a  looking  young 
fellow  as  one  need  want  for  a  son-in-law,  lifting  his  hat 
like  a  lord  as  he  passed  me.  We  may  expect  him  here 
to-night." 

"But,  father,  I  will  not  see  him.     I — I  cannot." 

The  girl  was  pale  and  anxious ;  her  eyes  were  eloquent 
with  pleading,  her  mouth  tremulous. 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Only  I  cannot — I  never  can  like  him  again." 

The  kind-hearted  gardener  sat  down  in  the  nearest 
chair,  and  took  those  two  clasped  hands  in  his,  looking 
gravely  but  very  kindly  into  the  girl's  troubled  face. 

"  Daughter,"  he  said,  "  workingmen  don't  pretend  to 
fine  sentiments,  but  we  have  our  own  ideas  of  honor, 
and  a  man's  word  once  given  in  good  faith  must  be  kept, 
let  the  cost  be  what  it  may.  I  have  given  my  word  to 
neighbor  Storms.  It  must  be  honestly  redeemed.  You 
made  no  objection  then." 

"  But,  oh,  father,  I  was  so  young !  How  could  I  know 
what  an  awful  thing  I  was  doing?" 

"  If  it  was  a  mistake,  who  but  ourselves  should  suffer 
for  it,  Euth?" 

"  But  he  went  astray — his  company  was  of  the  worst." 

"  That  is  all  changed  and  atoned  for." 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Oh,  father,  he  was  never  a  good  son." 

"  That,  too,  is  changed ;  no  man  was  ever  more  proud 
of  a  son  than  neighbor  Storms  is  now  of  this  young  man," 

The  girl  turned  away  and  began  to  cry. 


94  NORS TON'S    REST. 

"I  thought  yon  had  given  this  up — that  I  should 
never  again  be  tormented  with  it !  He  seemed  willing  to 
leave  me  alone;  but  now  only  three  weeks  after  my  god 
mother  has  promised  to  give  me  her  money  he  comes  back 
again!  Oh,  I  wish  she  had  promised  it  to  some  one 
else!" 

"That  is  the  very  reason  why  we  should  fulfil  our 
obligations  to  the  letter,  Ruth.     It  must  not  be  said  that 
a  child  of  mine  drew  back  from  her  father's  plighted  word 
because  her  dower  promised  to  be  more  than  double  any 
thing  he  had  counted  on  when  it  was  given." 
The  girl's  eyes  flashed  and  her  lips  curved. 
"  If  it  has  made  him  more  eager,  I  may  well  consider 
it,"  she  said  ;  "  and  I  think  it  has." 

"  Shame  on  you,  daughter  !  Such  suspicions  are  un 
becoming  ! " 

"  I  cannot  help  them,  father ;  the  very  thought  of  this 
man  is  hateful  to  me." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  father,  soothingly,  but  not  the 
less  firm  in  his  purpose ;  "  the  young  man  must  plead 
his  own  cause.  I  have  no  fear  that  he  will  find  my  child 
unreasonable." 

The  harassed  young  creature  grew  desperate ;  she  fol 
lowed  her  father  to  the  door  of  an  inner  room. 

"  Father,  come  back,  come  back  !  It  is  cruel  to  put 
me  off  so!" 

Ruth  drew  her  father  into  the  room  again,  and  re 
newed  her  protest  with  the  passionate  entreaties  that  had 
been  so  ineffectual.  In  her  desperation  she  spoke  with 
unusual  energy,  while  now  and  then  her  sentences  were 
broken  up  with  sobs. 

"Oh,  father,  do  not  insist — do  not  force  this  marriage 
upon  me  !  It  will  be  my  death,  my  destruction  !  I  de-» 
test  the  man  ! " 


PROTEST     AND     APPEAL.  95 

Jessup  turned  away  from  her.  That  sweet  appealing 
face  made  his  heart  ache. 

Ruth  saw  this  look  of  relenting,  and  would  not  give 
up  her  cause.  She  approached  close  to  her  father,  and, 
clinging  to  his  arm,  implored  him,  with  bitter  sobs,  to 
believe  her  when  she  said  that  this  marriage  would  be 
worse  than  death  to  her. 

"  Hush,  girl  ! "  said  the  old  man.  "  Hush,  now,  or  I 
may  believe  some  hints  that  the  young  man  has  thrown 
out  of  another  person.  No  girl  in  these  parts  would  re 
fuse  a  young  fellow  so  well-to-do  and  so  good-looking,  if 
she  hadn't  got  some  one  else  in  her  mind." 

This  speech  was  rendered  more  significant  by  a  look 
of  suspicion,  which  brought  a  rush  of  scarlet  into  the 
daughter's  face. 

"  Oh,  father,  you  are  cruel  ! "  cried  the  tortured  young 
creature,  struggling,  as  it  were,  for  her  life. 

The  old  man  turned  away  from  this  pathetic  pleading; 
nothing  but  a  stern  sense  of  honor,  which  is  so  strong  in 
some  men  of  his  class,  could  have  nerved  him  against  the 
anguish  of  this  appeal. 

"  We  have  given  our  word,  child ;  we  have  given  our 
word,"  he  said.  "  Neither  you  nor  your  father  can  go 
beyond  that." 

The  gardener's  voice  faltered  and  he  broke  away  from 
the  trembling  hands  with  which  Ruth  in  her  desperation 
Bought  to  hold  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
had  found  strength  to  resist  her  entreaties. 


96  NOBS  TON'S    REST. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

THE     HEART     STRUGGLE. 

HUMBLE  as  Jessup's  little  dwelling  was,  there 
hovered  about  it  a  spirit  of  beauty  which  would 
have  made  even  an  uncouth  object  beautiful  to  an  im 
aginative  person.  The  very  wild  things  about  the  park 
seemed  to  understand  this :  for  the  sweetest-toned  birds 
haunted  its  eaves,  and  the  most  timid  hares  would  creep 
through  the  tangled  flower-beds  and  commit  petty  depre 
dations  in  the  little  vegetable-garden  with  a  sense  of  per 
fect  security. 

As  the  dawn  brightened  into  sunrise  one  fair  June 
morning  a  slight  noise  was  heard  in  the  house.  The 
door  opened,  and  the  gardener,  in  the  strength  of  his 
middle  age,  stout,  fair-faced,  and  genial,  came  through, 
carrying  a  carpet-bag  in  his  hand.  Directly  behind  him, 
in  the  jasmine  porch,  stood  his  daughter,  who  seemed  to 
shrink  and  tremble  when  her  father  turned  back,  and, 
taking  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her  twice  upon  the  fore 
head  with  great  tenderness. 

"  Take  good  care  of  yourself,  child,"  he  said,  with  a 
look  of  kindly  admonition,  "  and  do  not  go  too  freely  into 
the  park  while  I  am  away,  if  you  would  not  wish  to 
meet  any  guest  from  the  house." 

The  girl  grew  pale  rather  than  crimson,  and  tried  to 
cover  her  agitation  by  throwing  both  arms  about  her 
father's  neck,  and  kissing  him  with  a  passion  of  tenderness. 

"  There  !  there  !"  said  the  man,  patting  her  head,  and 
drawing  his  hand  down  the  shining  braids  of  her  hair, 
with  a  farewell  caress.  "  I  will  be  home  again  before  bed- 


THE     HEART     S  T  K  U  G  G  L  E .  97 

time ;  or,  if  not,  leave  a  lamp  burning,  and  a  bit  ot 
bread-and-cheese  on  the  table,  with  a  sup  of  ale ;  for  I 
shall  be  sore  and  hungry !  One  does  not  eat  London 
fare  with  a  home  relish." 

"But  you  will  surely  come?"  said  the  girl,  with 
strange  anxiety. 

"  Surely,  child.  I  never  sleep  well  under  any  roof 
but  this." 

"  But,  perhaps —  It — it  may  be  that  you  will  come  in 
an  earlier  train." 

"  Xo,  no  !  There  will  be  none  coming  this  way.  So 
do  not  expect  me  before  ten  of  the  night." 

A  strange,  half-frightened  light  came  into  the  girl's 
eyes,  and  she  stood  upon  the  porch  watching  the  travel 
ler's  receding  figure  as  long  as  she  could  see  him  through 
her  blinding  tears.  Then  she  went  into  the  house,  cast 
herself  on  a  chair,  and,  throwing  both  arms  across  a 
table,  burst  into  a  wild  passion  of  distress. 

After  a  time  she  started  up,  and  flung  back  the  heavy 
masses  of  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her  arms. 

"  I  cannot — I  dare  not !  "  she  said,  flinging  her  hands 
apart,  with  desperate  action.  "  He  will  never,  never 
forgive  me ! " 

For  a  time  she  sat  drearily  in  her  chair,  with  tears 
still  on  her  cheek,  and  hanging  heavily  on  the  curling 
blackness  of  her  eye-lashes.  Very  sad,  and  almost  peni 
tent  she  looked  as  she  sat  thus,  with  her  eyes  bent  on  the 
floor,  and  her  hands  loosely  clasped.  The  rustic  dress,  in 
which  a  peculiar  red  color  predominated,  had  all  the  pic 
turesque  effect  of  an  antique  painting ;  but  the  face  was 
young,  fresh,  and  deeply  tinted  with  a  bright  gipsy-like 
richness  of  beauty,  altogether  at  variance  with  her  father's 
form  or  features.  Still  she  was  not  really  unlike  him. 
6 


98  U  O  B  S  T  O  N  *8    REST. 

Her  voice  had  the  same  sweet,  mellow  tones,  and  her 
smile  was  even  more  softly  winning. 

But  she  was  not  smiling  now;  far  from  it !  A  quiver 
of  absolute  distress  stirred  her  red  lips,  and  the  shadow 
of  many  a  painful  thought  swept  her  face  as  she  sat  there 
battling  with  her  own  heart. 

All  at  once  the  old  brass  clock  struck  with  the  clangor 
of  a  bell.  This  aroused  the  girl ;  she  started  up,  in  a 
panic,  and  began  to  clear  the  table,  from  which  her  father 
had  eaten  his  early  breakfast,  in  quick  haste.  One  by  one, 
she  put  away  the  pieces  of  old  blue  chi^  into  an  oaken 
cupboard,  and  set  the  furniture  in  order  about  the  room, 
trembling  all  the  time,  and  pausing  now  and  then  to 
listen,  as  if  she  expected  to  be  disturbed. 

AVhen  all  was  in  order,  and  the  little  room  swept  clean, 
the  girl  looked  around  in  breathless  bewilderment.  She 
searched  the  face  of  the  clock,  yet  never  gathered  from  it 
how  the  minutes  passed.  She  saw  the  sunshine  coming 
into  the  window,  bathing  the  white  jasmine-bells  with  a 
golden  light,  and  shrunk  from  it  like  a  guilty  thing. 

"  I — I  have  time  yet.  He  must  not  come  here.  I 
dare  not  wait." 

The  girl  snatched  up  a  little  straw-hat,  garlanded  with 
scarlet  poppies,  and  hastily  tied  it  on  her  head.  In  the 
midst  of  her  distress  she  cast  a  look  into  the  small  mirror 
which  hung  upon  the  wall,  and  clashed  one  hand  across 
her  eyes,  angry  with  the  tears  that  flushed  them. 

"  If  he  sees  that  I  can  weep,  he  will  understand  how 
weak  I  am,  and  all  will  go  for  nothing,"  she  said.  "Oh, 
God  help  me,  here  he  is!" 

Sure  enough,  through  the  overhanging  trees  Ruth  saw 
young  Hurst  walking  down  along  a  path  which  ran  along 
the  high  banks  of  the  ravine.  He  saw  the  gleam  of  her 


THE     HEART     S  T  R  U  G  G  L  E.  99 

garments  through  the  leaves,  and  came  toward  her  with 
both  hands  extended. 

"Ready  so  soon,  my  darling?"  he  exclaimed,  with 
animation.  "I  saw  your  father  safe  on  the  highway, 
and  came  at  once ;  but — but  what  does  this  mean  ? 
Surely,  Ruth,  you  cannot  go  in  that  dress?" 

"  ]STo,  I  cannot.  Oh,  Mr.  Walton,  I  dare  not  so  dis 
obey  my  father  !  He  would  never,  never  forgive  me  !" 

The  young  man  drew  back,  and  a  flash  of  angry  sur 
prise  darkened  his  face. 

"  Is  it  that  you  will  disappoint  me,  Ruth  ?  Have  I 
deserved  this?" 

"No,  no;  but  he  trusts  me!" 

"Have  I  not  trusted  you?" 

"But  my  father— -my "father?" 

"It  is  your  father  who  drives  us  to  this.  He  is 
unrelenting,  or  that  presumptuous  wretch  would  not  be 
permitted  to  enter  his  dwelling.  Has  he  dared  to  pre 
sent  himself  again?" 

"Yes,  last  night;  but  for  that  I  might  have  lost  all 
courage,  all  power  of  resistance." 

"And  you  saw  him  ?     You  spoke  with  him?" 

"  Only  in  my  father's  presence.  I  would  not  see  him 
alone." 

"And  after  seeing  him,  you  repent?" 

"  No — no — a  thousand  times  no.  It  is  only  of  my 
father  I  think.  I  am  all  that  he  has  in  the  world!" 
cried  the  girl,  in  a  passion  of  distress. 

"  Have  I  not  considered  this  ?  Do  I  ask  you  to  leave 
him  at  once  ?  One  would  think  that  I  intended  some 
great  wrong ;  that,  instead  of  taking—" 

"  Hush,  hush,  Mr.  Walton  !  Do  not  remind  me  how 
far  I  am  beneath  you.  This  is  the  great  barrier  which 


100 

I  tremble  to  pass.  My  father  never  will  forgive  me  if 
I  dare  to—" 

"  Become  the  wife  of  an  honorable  man,  who  loves  you 
well  enough  to  force  him  into  saving  his  child  from  a 
hateful  marriage,  at  the  price  of  deceiving  his  own 
father." 

"  Oh,  no !  no !  It  is  because  you  are  so  generous,  so 
ready  to  stake  everything  for  me,  that  I  hesitate." 

"  JSTo,  it  is  because  you  fear  the  displeasure  of  a  man 
who  has  almost  separated  us  in  his  stubborn  idea  of 
honor.  It  is  to  his  pride  that  my  own  must  be  sacrificed." 

"Pride,  Walton?" 

"  Yes,  for  he  is  proud  enough  to  break  up  my  life  and 
yours." 

"  Oh,  Walton,  this  is  cruel !  " 

"Cruel!  Can  you  say  this,  Ruth?  You  who  trifle 
with  me  so  recklessly?" 

"  I  do  not  trifle ;  but  I  dare  not — I  dare  not — " 

The  young  man  turned  aside  with  a  frown  upon  his 
face,  darker  and  sterner  than  the  girl  had  ever  seen  there 
before. 

"  You  certainly  never  will  trifle  with  me  again,"  he 
said,  in  a  deep,  stern  voice,  which  made  the  heart  in 
the  poor  girl's  bosom  quiver  as  if  an  arrow  had  gone 
through  it. 

"  Oh,  do  not  leave  me  in  anger,"  she  pleaded. 

He  walked  on,  taking  stern,  resolute  strides  along  the 
path.  She  saw  that  his  face  was  stormy,  his  gestures 
determined,  and  sprang  forward,  panting  for  breath. 

"Oh,  Walton,  Walton,  forgive  me!" 

He  looked  down  into  her  wild,  eager  face,  gloomily. 

"  Ruth,  you  have  never  loved  me.  You  will  be  pre 
vailed  upon  to  marry  that  hound." 


THE     HEART     STRUGGLE.  101 

She  reached  up  her  arms,  and  flung  herself  on  his 
bosom. 

"Oh,  Walton,  I  do— I  do  love  you! " 

"Then  be  ready,  as  you  promised.  I  have  but  a 
moment  to  spare." 

"But  my  father!" 

"  Is  it  easier  to  abandon  the  man  who  loves  you,  or  to 
offend  him?" 

"  Oh,  Walton,  I  will  go ;  but  alone — I  tremble  to 
think  of  it." 

"  It  is  only  for  a  few  miles.  In  less  than  half  an  hour 
I  will  join  you.  Be  careful  to  dress  very  quietly,  and 
seem  unconscious  when  we  meet." 

"  I  will — I  will !  Only  do  not  frown  so  darkly  on 
me  again." 

The  young  man  turned  his  fine  blue  eyes  full  upon  her. 

"Did  my  black  looks  terrify  you,  darling?"  he  said, 
with  a  smile  that  warmed  her  heart  like  a  burst  of  sun 
shine.  "  But  you  deserved  it.  Remember  that." 

Ruth  looked  in  the  handsome  face  of  her  lover  with 
wistful  yearning.  While  alone,  with  her  father's  kind 
farewell  appealing  to  her  conscience,  she  had  felt  capable 
of  a  great  sacrifice;  but  with  those  eyes  meeting  hers, 
with  that  voice  pleading  in  her  heart,  she  forgot  every 
thing  but  the  promise  she  had  made,  and  the  overwhelm 
ing  love  that  prompted  it. 

The  young  man  read  all  this  in  those  eloquent  features, 
and  would  gladly  have  kissed  the  lips  that  still  trembled 
between  smiles  and  tears ;  but  even  in  that  solitude  he 
was  cautious. 

"  Now,  farewell  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  then — " 

Euth  caught  her  breath  with  a  quick  gasp,  and  the 
color  flashed  back  to  her  face,  vivid  as  flame. 


102  NORS  TON'S    REST. 

A  noise  among  the  trees  startled  them  both.  Young 
Hurst  turned  swiftly,  and  walked  away,  saying,  as  he  went : 

"  Be  punctual,  for  Heaven  only  knows  when  another 
opportunity  will  offer." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

ONE     RASH     STEP. 

RUTH  JESSUP  hurried  into  the  house,  ran  breath 
lessly  to  her  chamber  in  the  loft,  and  changed  the 
coquettish  dress,  which  gave  such  picturesque  brightness 
to  her  beauty,  for  one  of  mingled  gray  and  black.  Not 
a  tinge  of  warm  color  was  there  to  betray  her  identity. 
Her  small  bonnet  was  covered  by  a  veil  so  thick  that  no 
one  could  clearly  distinguish  the  features  underneath. 
In  truth,  her  very  air  seemed  changed,  for  graceful  ease 
had  given  place  to  a  timid,  hesitating  movement,  that 
was  entirely  at  variance  with  her  character. 

She  came  down-stairs  hurriedly,  and  rushed  through 
the  little  parlor,  as  if  afraid  that  the  very  walls  might 
cry  out  against  the  act  she  meditated. 

Ruth  avoided  the  great  avenues  and  the  lodge-gate, 
but  hurried  by  the  most  remote  paths,  through  the  deepest 
shades  of  the  park,  until  one  brought  her  to  a  side-gate 
in  the  wall,  which  she  opened  with  a  key,  and  let  herself 
out  into  the  highway.  There  she  stood,  for  some  min 
utes,  with  her  hand  on  the  latch,  hesitating,  in  this 
supreme  moment  of  her  life,  as  if  she  stood  upon  a  preci 
pice,  and,  looking  into  its  depths,  recoiled  with  shud 
dering. 


ONE     RASH     STEP.  103 

It  is  possible  that  the  girl  might  have  returned  even 
then,  for  a  pang  of  dread  had  seized  upon  her ;  but,  while 
she  stood  hesitating,  a  noise  in  the  highway  made  her 
leap  back  from  the  gate  with  a  force  that  closed  it  against 
her,  and  she  stood  outside,  trembling  from  head  to  foot ; 
for,  coming  down  the  highway  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  she 
saw  a  dog-cart,  in  which  was  Walton  Hurst  and  a  groom, 
driving  rapidly,  as  if  in  haste  to  meet  some  train.  The 
young  man  gave  her  one  encouraging  glance  as  he  swept 
by;  the  next  moment  the  dog-cart  had  turned  a  curve  of 
the  road,  and  was  out  of  sight. 

Ruth  felt  now  that  her  last  chance  of  retreat  was  cut 
off.  With  a  feeling  of  something  like  desperation  she 
left  the  gate,  and  walked  swiftly  up  the  road.  There 
was  no  sense  of  fatigue  in  this  young  girl.  In  her  wild 
excitement,  she  could  have  walked  miles  on  miles  with 
out  being  conscious  of  the  distance.  She  did,  in  fact, 
walk  on  and  on,  keeping  well  out  of  sight,  till  she  came 
to  a  little  depot,  some  three  miles  from  "  Norston's  Rest." 
There  she  diverged  from  her  path,  and,  entering  the 
building,  sat  down  in  a  remote  corner,  and  waited,  with 
a  feeling  of  nervous  dread,  that  made  her  start  and  quiver 
as  each  person  entered  the  room. 

At  last  the  train  came  up,  creating  some  bustle  and 
confusion,  though  only  a  few  passengers  were  in  waiting. 
Under  cover  of  this  excitement,  Ruth  took  her  seat  in  a 
carriage,  and  was  shut  in  with  a  click  of  the  latch  which 
struck  upon  the  poor  girl's  heart,  as  if  some  fatal  turn  of 
a  key  had  locked  her  in  with  an  irretrievable  fate. 

The  train  rushed  on  with  a  swiftness  and  force 
that  almost  took  away  the  girl's  breath.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  if  she  had  been  caught  up  and  hurled  forward 
to  her  destiny  with  a  force  no  human  will  could  resist. 


104  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Then  she  grew  desperate.  The  rush  of  the  engine 
seemed  too  slow  for  the  wild  desire  that  succeeded  to  her 
irresolution.  Yet  it  was  not  twenty  minutes  before  the 
train  stopped  again,  and,  looking  through  the  window, 
Ruth  saw  her  lover  leap  from  the  platform  and  enter  the 
next  carriage  to  her  own. 

Had  he  seen  her?  Did  the  lightning  glance  cast  that 
way  give  him  a  glimpse  of  her  face  looking  so  eagerly 
through  the  glass  ?  At  any  rate,  he  was  in  the  same 
train  with  her,  and  once  more  they  were  hurled  forward 
at  lightning  speed,  until  sixty  miles  lay  between  them 
and  the  mansion  they  had  left. 

Once  more  the  train  stopped.  This  time  a  hand 
whiter  than  that  of  the  guard,  was  reached  through  the 
door,  and  a  face  that  made  her  heart  leap  with  a  panic 
of  joy  and  fear,  looked  into  hers.  She  scarcely  touched 
this  proffered  hand,  but  flitted  out  to  the  platform,  like 
a  bird  let  loose  in  a  strange  place.  This  was  a  way-side 
station,  and  it  happened  that  no  person  except  those  two 
left  the  train  at  this  particular  point.  Still  they  parted 
]ike  chance  passengers,  and  there  was  no  one  to  observe 
the  few  rapid  words  that  passed  between  them  in  the 
small  reception-room. 

When  the  train  was  out  of  sight,  and  all  the  bustle 
attendant  on  its  arrival  had  sunk  into  silence,  these  two 
young  persons  entered  a  carriage  that  stood  waiting,  and 
drove  swiftly  toward  a  small  town,  clouded  with  the 
smoke  of  factories,  that  lay  in  the  distance.  Through 
the  streets  of  this  town,  and  into  another,  still  more 
remote,  they  drove,  and  at  last  drew  up  in  a  small 
village,  to  which  the  spire  of  a  single  church  gave  some 
thing  of  picturesque  dignity. 

To  the  door  of  this  church  the  carriage  went,  after 


ONE     BASH      STEP.  105 

avoiding  the  inhabitable  portion  of  the  village  by  taking 
a  cross-road,  which  led  through  a  neighboring  moor. 
Into  the  low-browed  entrance  Walton  Hurst  led  the 
girl.  The  church  was  dim,  and  so  damp  that  it  struck  a 
chill  through  .the  young  creature  as  she  approached 
the  altar,  where  a  man,  in  sacred  vestments,  stood 
with  an  open  book  in  his  hand,  prepared  for  a  solemn 
ceremony. 

Two  or  three  persons  sauntered  up  to  the  church-door, 
attracted  by  the  unusual  presence  of  a  carriage  in  that 
remote  place,  and  some,  more  curious  than  the  rest,  came 
inside,  and  drew,  open-mouthed,  toward  the  altar,  while 
the  marriage  ceremony  was  being  performed. 

When  the  bride  turned  from  the  altar,  shivering  and 
pale  with  intense  excitement,  two  or  three  of  these  per 
sons  secured  a  full  view  of  her  face,  and  never  forgot  it 
afterward ;  for  anything  more  darkly,  richly  beautiful 
than  her  features  had  never  met  their  eyes. 

Ruth  was  indeed  lovely  in  this  supreme  moment  of 
her  life.  The  pallor  of  concentrated  emotion  gave  depth 
and  almost  startling  brilliancy  to  those  great  eyes,  bright 
as  stars,  and  soft  as  velvet,  which  were  for  one  moment 
turned  upon  them.  All  else  might  have  been  forgotten 
in  after  years;  but  that  one  glance  was  burnt  like  enamel 
on  more  than  one  memory  when  Walton  Hurst's  mar 
riage  was  made  known  to  the  world. 

The  vestry  was  dark  and  damp  when  they  entered  it, 
followed  by  a  grim  old  clerk,  and  at  a  more  respectful  dis 
tance  after  them  came  three  or  four  of  the  villagers,  who 
only  saw  the  shadowy  picture  of  a  man  and  woman  bend 
ing  over  a  huge  book — the  one  writing  his  name  with  a 
bold  dash  of  the  hand,  the  other  trembling  so  violently, 
that  for  a  moment  she  was  compelled  to  lay  the  pen 


106  NORS  TON'S     REST. 

down,  while  she  looked  into  her  husband's  face  with  a 
pathetic  plea  for  patience  with  her  weakness. 

But  the  names  were  written  at  last,  and  the  young 
couple  left  the  church  in  haste,  as  they  had  entered  it 
—the  bride  with  a  bit  of  paper  held  tightly  in  her  hand, 
the  bridegroom  looking  happy  and  elated,  as  if  he  had 
conquered  some  enemy. 

As  they  drove  away,  two  or  three  of  the  villagers,  who 
had  been  drawn  into  the  church,  turned  b:ick  from  the 
porch,  and  stole  into  the  vestry  where  the  clerk  stood  by 
his  open  register,  examining  a  piece  of  gold  that  had 
been  thrust  into  his  hand,  with  a  look  of  greedy  unbelief. 

The  clerk  was  saying, 

"See,  neighbor  Ivnox,  it  is  gold — pure  gold.  Did  any 
one  ever  see  the  like?  There  is  the  face  of  Her  Majesty, 
plain  as  the  sun  in  yon  sky.  Oh,  if  a  few  more  such 
rare  windfalls  would  but  come  this  way,  my  place  would 
be  worth  having." 

The  sight  of  this  gold  only  whetted  the  villagers' 
curiosity  to  fresh  vigor.  They  became  eager  to  know 
what  great  man  it  was  who  had  come  among  them,  with 
such  shadow-like  stillness,  leaving  only  golden  traces  of 
his  presence  in  the  church ;  for  the  clerk  hinted,  with 
glee,  that  the  pastor  had  been  rewarded  fourfold  for 
his  share  in  the  ceremony.  Then  one  after  another  of 
these  persons  looked  at  the  register.  It  chanced  that  the 
record  was  made  on  the  top  of  a  blank  page ;  thus  the 
two  names  were  rendered  more  than  usually  conspicuous. 
This  was  the  record  : 

WALTOX  HURST — RUTH  JESSUP. 


ON  THE  WAY  HOME.          107 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

ON  THE  WAY  HOME. 

U  TV  /T^  Darling — my  wife  !     Look  up  and  tell  me  that 

-1VJL  your  joy  is  equal  to  mine,"  said  Hurst,  when  he 
and  his  bride  were  seated  in  the  carriage.  "  No !  that  is 
impossible ;  but  say  that  you  are  happy,  my  Ruth  ! " 

"Happy!"  said  the  girl.  aOh,  Walton,  it  is  cruel 
that  I  can  be  so ;  but  I  am— I  am  !" 

The  young  man  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  kissed 
them  with  passionate  warmth. 

"  You  will  never  repent,  Ruth  ?  " 

"Repent  that  I  am  your  wife!  That  you—"  Here 
the  girl's  great  earnest  eyes  fell  and  were  shaded  at  once 
by  lashes  black  as  themselves. 

"  Well,  darling,  what  more?" 

"  That  you  are  my  husband." 

The  word  seemed  to  flood  her  heart  with  sunshine, 
and  her  face  with  burning  blushes.  Its  very  sound  was 
full  of  exquisite  shame.  Hurst  drew  that  face  to  his 
bosom  and  kissed  it  with  tender  reverence. 

"  Now,  my  beloved,  we  are  all  the  world  to  each 
other." 

"All,  all,"  she  murmured;  "but,  oh,  what  w!1l  my 
father  do  ?  " 

"  He  can  do  nothing,  Ruth.  But  that  his  word  was 
so  rashly  given,  and  his  love  for  the  old  family  so 
near  a  religion,  that  his  consent  could  never  have  been 
attained,  even  though  Sir  Noel  had  himself  commanded 
it — there  should  have  been  no  secrcsy  in  this." 


108  HOUSTON'S    REST. 

"  Oh,  if  that  had  been  possible !  But  Sir  Noel  never 
would  have  seen  his  heir  stoop  as  he  has  done  for  a 
wife." 

"  Sir  Noel  is  not  like  other  men  of  his  class,  my  Ruth. 
His  pride  is  too  noble  for  small  prejudices.  Besides,  I 
think  he  has  suspected  from  the  first  how  dear  you  are 
to  me ;  for  in  a  conversation  the  other  day  he  seemed  to 
hint  at  a  vague  approval.  But  for  this  I  should  not  have 
acted  without  his  positive  consent." 

"  But  my  father  never  would  have  given  his  consent, 
even  if  Sir  Noel  himself  had  commanded  it,"  said  Ruth. 
"  He  would  rather  die  than  drag  down  the  dignity  of  the 
Hursts." 

"  It  was  this  stiff-necked  integrity  that  forced  me  to  a 
step  that  will  be  more  likely  to  anger  Sir  Noel  than  the 
marriage  itself  would  have  done.  One  glimpse  of  the 
truth  would  have  aroused  your  father  to  drive  me  from 
his  house,  dearly  as  he  has  always  loved  me.  Then  would 
have  come  this  question  of  young  Storms — don't  tremble 
so — are  you  not  my  wife  ?  " 

"  I — I  should  have  been  compelled  to  marry  him.  He 
loves  me.  My  father  would  die  for  me  any  minute;  but 
were  I  fifty  times  as  dear  he  would  sacrifice  me  to  the 
dignity  of  the  Hursts — to  a  promise  once  given,"  said 
Ruth,  lifting  her  face  from  the  bosoni  where  it  had 
rested. 

"  But  you?" 

"  I  could  not  have  resisted.  My  father  is  so  loving — 
so  kind.  He  would  have  told  me  of  your  grandeur, 
your  long  descent,  of  the  noble — nay,  royal  ladies — that 
had  been  mated  with  the  Hursts.  He  would  have 
crushed  me  under  the  weight  of  my  own  miserable  pre 
sumption.  He  would  have  told  me,  in  plain  speed), 


ON     T  II  E     WAY     H  O  M  E .  109 

what  my  heart  reproaches  me  with  every  minute  now 
most  of  all,  when  I  am  daring  to  be  so  happy. " 

"  But  you  are  happy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Walton,  it  seems  like  wickedness,  but  I  am ;  so 
weak,  however,  so  fearful  of  what  must  come.  Oh,  give 
me  a  little  time!  Permit  me  to  dream  a  while  until  some 
chance  or  great  necessity  makes  concealment  impossible. 
I  have  no  courage  left." 

"But  this  Storms  ?» 

"I  have  got  a  little  respite  from  my  father;  he  will 
not  break  his  word,  though  I  pleaded  with  him  almost 
upon  my  knees — but  I  am  not  to  be  hurried.  They 
are  to  give  me  time,  and  now,  that  I  know  in  my  heart 
that  it  can  never,  never  be,  the  terror  of  him  is  gone.  So 
let  me  have  just  one  little  season  of  rest  before  you  break 
this  to  my  poor  father,  and  make  me  afraid  to  look  Sir 
Noel  in  the  face." 

Perhaps  this  sweet  pleading  found  some  answer  in 
the  young  man's  wishes,  for  in  speaking  of  Sir  Noel's 
conversation  in  the  library,  he  had  discovered  how 
little  there  was  in  it  to  warrant  the  step  he  had 
taken.  At  the  best  there  was  much  in  his  rash  precipi 
tancy  to  displease  the  proud  old  baronet,  though  he 
should  be  found  willing  to  forgive  the  mesalliance  he 
had  made. 

If  these  thoughts  had  great  influence  with  Hurst,  the 
terror  and  troubled  eloquence  of  his  bride  completed  his 
conviction.  Drawing  Ruth  gently  toward  him,  he  kissed 
her  upon  the  forehead;  for  this  conversation,  coming  into 
the  midst  of  their  happiness,  had  subdued  them  both. 

"Be  it  as  you  wish,  sweet  wife.  With  perfect  love 
and  trust  in  each  other,  we  need  be  in  no  haste  to  let  any 
one  share  our  secret." 


110  XOKS TON'S    REST. 

"Oh,  how  kind  you  are!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  bright 
ening  into  fresh  happiness.  "This  will  give  me  time 
to  study,  to  add  something  to  the  education  that  will 
be  precious  to  me  now ;  perhaps  I  can  make  myself  less 
unworthy  of  your  father's  forgiveness." 

"Unworthy?"  answered  Hurst,  wounded,  yet  half 
charmed  by  her  sweet  humility.  "  Sir  Noel  has  always 
looked  upon  you  as  a  pretty  favorite,  whom  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  protect ;  and  my  cousin,  the  Lady  Rose — " 

"Ah,  how  ungrateful,  how  forward  she  will  think  me ! 
My  heart  grows  heavy  when  her  name  is  mentioned." 

"  She  has  always  been  your  friend,  Ruth." 

"  I  know — I  know ;  and  in  return  I  have  had  the  pre 
sumption  to  think  of  making  myself  her  equal." 

"  There  can  be  no  presumption  in  the  wife  of  a  Hurst 
accepting  all  that  he  has  to  give;  hut  let  us  talk  of 
something  else.  If  our  happiness  is  to  be  a  secret,  we 
must  not  mar  its  first  dawning  with  apprehensions  and 
regrets.  Some  perplexities  will  arise,  for  our  position 
will  be  an  embarrassing  one;  but  there  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  anticipate  them.  It  will  be  difficult  enough 
to  guard  our  secret  so  well  that  no  one  shall  guess  it." 

Ruth  was  smiling.  She  could  not  think  it  difficult  to 
keep  a  secret  that  seemed  to  her  far  too  sweet  and 
precious  for  the  coarser  sympathy  of  the  world.  The 
sacredness  of  her  marriage  was  rendered  more  profound 
by  the  silence  that  sanctified  it  to  her  mind. 

But  now  the  carriage  stopped,  and  the  driver  was 
heard  getting  down  from  the  box.  Hurst  looked  out. 

They  were  in  a  village  through  which  the  railroad 
passed — not  the  one  they  had  stopped  at.  They  had  been 
taken  above  that  by  a  short  route  from  the  church, 
which  the  driver  had  chosen  without  consultation. 


T  II  E      L  A  DY      R  O  S  E  .  Ill 

"So  soon!     Surely  we  are  in  the  wrong  place/'  said 
Hurst,  impatient  that  his  happiness  should  be  broken  in 


"  You  seemed  particular  about  meeting  the  down  train, 
sir,  and  I  came  the  nearest  way.  It  is  due  in  five 
minutes,"  answered  the  man,  touching  his  hat. 

There  was  no  time  for  expostulation  or  regret.  In 
fact,  the  man  had  acted  wisely,  if  "Norston's  Rest"  was 
to  be  reached  in  time  to  save  suspicion.  So  the  newly- 
married  pair  separated  with  a  hurried  hand-clasp,  each 
took  a  separate  carriage,  and  glided  safely  into  dream 
land,  as  the  train  flew  across  the  country  at  the  rate 
of  fifty  miles  an  hour. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE     LADY    ROSE. 


EEST"  was  brilllantl7  lighted,  for 
JL  i  a  dinner-party  had  assembled,  when  its  heir 
drove  up  in  his  dog-cart  that  night,  and  leaping  out,  threw 
his  reins  to  the  groom,  with  some  hasty  directions  about 
to-morrow.  It  was  near  the  dinner  hour,  and  several  fair 
guests  were  lingering  on  the  broad,  stone  terrace,  or 
shaded  by  the  silken  and  lace  curtains  of  the  draw 
ing-room,  watching  for  his  return  with  that  pretence  of 
graceful  indifference  with  which  habits  of  society  veil  the 
deepest  feeling. 

One  fair  creature  retreated  from  the  terrace,  with  a 
handful  of  flowers  which  she  had  gathered  hastily  from 
a  stone  vase,  and  carried  away  when  the  first  sound 


112  W  O  B  S  T  O  N '  8     11 E  S  T . 

of  wheels  reached  her;  but  she  lingered  in  a  little  room 
that  opened  from  the  great  hall,  and  seemed  to  be  arrang 
ing  her  flowers  with  diligence  in  a  vase  that  stood  on  a 
small  malachite  table,  when  young  Hurst  came  in. 

Unconsciously,  and  against  her  own  proud  will,  she 
lifted  her  face  from  the  flowers,  and  cast  an  eager  glance 
into  the  hall,  wondering  in  her  heart  if  he  would  care  to 
seek  her  for  a  moment  before  he  went  up  to  dress. 

The  young  man  saw  her  standing  there  quite  alone, 
sweet  and  bright  as  the  flowers  she  was  arranging,  and 
paused  a  moment,  after  drawing  off  his  gloves ;  but  he 
turned  away  and  went  up  the  broad,  oaken  staircase,  with 
the  thoughts  of  another  face,  dark,  piquant,  and  more 
wildly  beautiful,  all  bathed  in  blushes,  too  vividly  in  his 
mind  for  any  other  human  features  to  throw  even  a 
shadow  there. 

The  Lady  Rose  dropped  a  branch  of  heliotrope  and  a 
moss-rosebud,  which  had  for  one  instant  trembled  in  her 
hand,  as  Hurst  passed  the  door,  and  trod  upon  them 
with  a  sharp  feeling  of  disappointment. 

"  He  knew  that  I  was  alone, "  she  muttered,  "  and 
passed  on  without  a  word.  He  saw  the  flowers  that  he 
loves  best  in  my  hand,  but  would  not  claim  them." 

Tears,  hot,  passionate  tears,  stood  in  the  lady's  eyes, 
and  her  white  teeth  met  sharply  for  a  moment,  as  if 
grinding  some  bitter  thing  between  them;  but  when 
Hurst  came  down-stairs,  fully  dressed,  he  found  her  in 
the  drawing-room,  with  a  richer  bloom  than  usual  on  her 
cheeks,  and  the  frost-like  lace,  which  fell  in  a  little  cloud 
over  the  soft  blue  of  her  dress,  just  quivering  with  the 
agitation  she  had  made  so  brave  an  effort  to  suppress. 

As  young  Hurst  came  into  the  drawing-room,  Sir 
Noel,  who  had  been  talking  to  a  guest,  came  forward  in 


THE     LADY     ROSE.  113 

the  calm  way  habitual  to  his  class,  and  addressed  his  son 
with  something  very  like  to  a  reproof. 

"We  have  almost  waited,"  he  said,  glancing  at  the 
young  lady  as  the  person  most  aggrieved.  "  In  fact,  the 
dinner  has  been  put  back." 

The  old  man's  voice  was  gentle  and  his  manners  suave ; 
but  there  was  a  reserved  undertone  in  his  speech  that 
warned  the  young  heir  of  a  deeper  meaning  than  either 
was  intended  to  suggest. 

Hurst  only  bowed  for  answer. 

"  Now  that  he  has  come/7  the  baronet  added,  smiling 
graciously  on  the  young  lady,  but  turning  away  from  his 
son,  "  perhaps  we  shall  not  be  entirely  unforgiving." 

Walton  Hurst  made  no  apology,  however,  but  offered 
his  arm  to  Lady  Rose,  and  followed  his  father's  lead  into 
the  dining-room. 

It  was  a  spacious  apartment,  brilliantly  illuminated 
with  gas  and  wax  lights,  which  found  a  rich  reflection 
from  buffets  loaded  with  plate,  and  a  table  on  which  gold, 
silver,  and  rare  old  glass  gleamed  and  flashed  through 
masses  of  hot-house  flowers.  A  slow  rustle  of  silken 
trains  sweeping  the  floor,  a  slight  confusion,  and  the  party 
was  seated. 

During  the  first  course  Lady  Rose  was  restless  and 
piqued.  She  found  the  person  at  her  side  so  thoughtful 
that  a  feeling  of  wounded  pride  seized  upon  her,  and  gave 
to  her  manner  an  air  of  graceful  defiance  that  at  last  drew 
his  attention. 

So  Hurst  broke  from  the  dreaminess  of  his  love  reverie 
and  plunged  into  the  gay  conversation  about  him.  Spite 
of  himself  the  triumphant  gladness  of  his  heart  burst 
forth,  and  in  the  glow  of  his  own  joy  he  met  the  half- 
shy,  half-playful  attentions  of  the  high-bred  creature  by 
7 


114  N  O  R  S  T  O  N  '  S     E  E  S  T . 

his  side  with  a  degree  of  brilliant  animation  which 
brought  new  bloom  to  her  cheeks,  and  a  smile  of  content- 

O  ' 

ment  to  the  lips  of  the  proud  old  man  at  the  head  of  the 
table.  This  smile  deepened  into  a  glow  of  entire  satis 
faction  when  the  gentlemen  were  left  to  their  wine ;  for 
then  young  Hurst  made  an  excuse  to  his  father,  and,  as 
the  latter  thought,  followed  the  ladies  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

Deep  drinking  at  dinner-parties  is  no  longer  a  practice 
in  England,  as  it  may  have  been  years  ago.  Thus  it  was 
not  many  minutes  before  the  baronet  and  his  guests  came 
up-stairs  to  find  the  ladies  gathered  in  knots  about  the 
room,  and  one,  at  least,  sitting  in  dissatisfied  solitude  near 
a  table  filled  with  books  of  engravings,  which  she  did 
not  care  to  open  ;  for  all  her  discontent  had  come  back 
when  she  thought  herself  less  attractive  than  the  wines 

C5 

of  some  old  vintage,  stored  before  she  was  born. 

"But  where  is  Walton  ?"  questioned  the  old  gentle 
man,  approaching  the  girl,  with  a  faint  show  of  resent 
ment.  "  Surely,  Lady  Hose,  I  expected  to  find  him  at 
your  feet." 

"  It  is  a  place  he  seldom  seeks,"  answered  the  lady, 
opening  one  of  the  books  with  assumed  carelessness.  "  If 
lie  has  left  the  table,  I  fancy  it  must  have  been  him  I  saw 
crossing  the  terrace  ten  minutes  ago." 

Sir  Noel  replied,  incredulously : 

"  Saw  him  crossing  the  terrace !  There  must  have 
been  some  mistake.  I  am  sure  he  spoke  of  going  to  the 
drawing-room." 

She  hn$itated. 

"  Pie  changed  his  mind,  I  suppose,"  she  said  at  last, 
with  a  slight  but  haughty  wave  of  her  hand  toward  a 
great  bay-window  that  looked  out  on  the  park.  "I 


THE     LADY     ROSE.  115 

saw  Ins  face  as  lie  crossed  that  block  of  moonlight  on  the 
terrace,  I  am  quite  sure.  Perhaps — " 

"  Perhaps  what,  Lady  Eose  ?  " 

"  He  has  some  business  at  the  gardener's  cottage.  Old 
Jessup  is  a  favorite,  you  know/7  answered  the  lady,  with 
a  light  laugh,  in  which  the  old  man  discovered  the  bitter 
ness  of  latent  jealousy. 

A  hot,  angry  flush  suffused  the  old  man's  face ;  but 
this  was  the  only  sign  of  anger  that  he  gave.  The  next 
instant  lie  was  composed  as  ever,  and  answered  her  with 
seeming  indifference. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember;  I  had  some  orders  for  Jessup, 
which  he  was  thoughtful  enough  to  take." 

The  lady  smiled  again,  now  with  a  curve  of  distrust 
ful  scorn  on  her  red  lips. 

"  Perhaps  he  failed  in  giving  your  message  earlier,  and 
in  his  desire  to  please  you  has  forsaken  us." 

"  Perhaps,"  was  the  indifferent  reply.  Then  the  old 
man  moved  quietly  away,  and  speaking  a  gracious  word 
here  and  there,  glided  out  of  the  room. 

Later  in  the  evening,  Lady  Rose  had  left  her  book 
of  engravings,  and  stood  shrouded  in  the  sweeping  dra 
peries  of  the  great  window,  looking  out  upon  the  park. 
Directly  she  saw  the  figure  of  her  host  gliding  across  the 
terrace,  which,  in  that  place,  seemed  flagged  with  silver, 
the  moonlight  lay  so  full  upon  it.  The  next  moment  he 
was  lost  in  the  blackest  shadows  of  the  park. 

"  He  has  gone  to  seek  him  !  Now  I  shall  know  the 
worst,"  she  thought,  while  quick  thrills  of  hope  and 
dread  shot  like  lances  through  her  frame.  "  J  could  not 
stoop  to  spy  upon  him,  but  a  father  is  different,  and, 
once  on  the  alert,  will  be  implacable." 

While  these  thoughts  were  in  her  mind,  the  girl  gave 


116  N  O  R  S  T  O  N '  S     REST. 

a  sudden  start,  and  grasped  at  the  silken  curtains,  while 
a  faint  shivering  came  over  her,  that  seemed  like  coming 
death. 

For  deep  in  the  woods  of  the  park,  where  the  garden 
er's  cottage  stood,  she  heard  the  sharp  report  of  a  gun. 

"Great  Heaven!  What  can  it  mean?"  she  cried, 
clasping  her  hands.  "  What  can  it  mean?" 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

ALONE     IN     THE     COTTAGE. 

BREATHLESS  with  apprehension,  which  was  made 
half  joy  by  an  undeniable  sense  of  happiness,  all 
the  more  intense  because  it  was  gained  by  so  much  haz 
ard,  Ruth  Jessup — for  she  dared  not  breathe  that  new 
name  even  to  herself  as  yet — reached  that  remote  gate  in 
the  park-wall,  and  darted  like  a  frightened  hare  into  the 
thick  covert  of  the  trees.  There  she  lingered  a  while,  hold 
ing  her  breath  with  dread.  It  was  scarcely  dark,  but  to 
her  it  seemed  impossible  that  so  few  hours  could  have 
passed  since  she  had  stolen  from  her  home.  Surely, 
surely,  her  father  must  have  returned.  She  would  find 
him  standing  in  the  park,  ready  to  arraign  and  judge 
her  for  the  thing  she  had  done ;  or  he  might  come  out  to 
find  her  wandering  among  the  ferns,  so  happy,  yet  so 
terrified,  that  she  would  like  to  stay  there  forever,  like  a 
bird  in  sight  of  its  nest,  trembling  while  it  watched  over 
its  trust  of  love. 

The  purple  twilight  was  just  veiling  the  soft,  green 


ALONE     IN     THE     COTTAGE.  117 

gloom  of  the  trees  with  its  tender  darkness.  Now  and 
then  a  pale  flash  of  gold  shot  through  the  leaves,  giving 
signs  that  the  evening  had  but  just  closed  in.  Still  the 
girl  hesitated.  Almost,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she 
feared  to  meet  her  father  face  to  face.  The  taste  of  for 
bidden  fruit  was  on  her  lips,  tainted  with  the  faint  bitter 
ness  of  coming  ashes. 

"I  will  go  home — I  must! "she  said,  rising  from  a 
fragment  of  rock  that  had  given  her  a  seat  among  the 
ferns.  "  There  is  yet  a  quiver  of  crimson  in  the  air.  It 
cannot  be  ten  yet  I" 

The  girl  walked  slowly  and  cautiously  on  until  a 
curve  in  the  path  brought  her  in  sight  of  the  cottage. 
Then  her  pent-up  breath  came  forth  in  a  glad  exclama 
tion. 

"  It  is  dark  yet !  Jso  one  has  been  there  in  all  this 
timer 

Poor  child  !  It  seemed  an  age  since  she  had  left  the 
house,  and  a  miracle  that  she  should  have  found  it  so 
still  and  solitary.  When  she  entered  the  porch,  the  light 
of  a  rising  moon  was  trembling  down  to  the  honeysuckles 
that  clung  to  it,  and  a  cloud  of  dewy  fragrance  seemed 
to  welcome  her  home  again  tenderly,  as  if  she  had  no 
deception  in  her  heart,  and  was  not  trembling  from  head 
to  foot  with  vague  apprehensions. 

Taking  a  heavy  key  from  under  one  of  the  serfts 
which  ran  along  each  side  of  the  porch,  she  opened  the 
door  and  went  into  her  home  again.  The  moonlight 

O  o 

came  flickering  through  the  oriel  window,  as  if  a  bunch 
of  silver  arrows  had  been  shivered  against  it,  half  illu 
minating  the  room  with  a  soft,  beautiful  light.  Ruth 
would  gladly  have  sat  clown  in  this  tranquil  gloom,  and 
given  herself  up  to  such  dreams  as  follow  a  full  certainty 


118 

of  being  beloved,,  but  the  hoarse  old  clock  twanged  out 
the  hour  with  a  force  that  absolutely  frightened  her. 
She  had  not  self-possession  enough  to  count  its  strokes, 
but  shuddered  to  think  the  night  had  possibly  reached 
ten  o'clock. 

She  lighted  a  lamp,  looked  around  to  make  sure  that 
nothing  had  been  left  that  could  betray  her,  then  ran  up 
stairs,  flung  off  her  sad-colored  dress,  set  all  her  rich  hair 
free,  and  came  down  in  the  jaunty  red  over-dress  and 
black  skirt  that  had  given  her  beauty  such  picturesque 
effect  in  the  morning.  All  day  she  had  been  pale  and 
feverishly  flushed  by  turns.  Now  a  sense  of  safety  gave 
her  countenance  a  permanent  richness  of  color  that  would 
have  been  dazzling  in  a  broader  light  than  that  lamp 
could  give.  She  was  under  shelter  in  her  own  familiar 
garment;  could  it  be  that  all  the  rest  was  a  dream?  Had 
she,  in  fact,  been  married  ? 

A  quick,  frightened  gasp  answered  the  question.  The 
lamp-light  fell  on  a  heavy  circlet  of  new  gold,  that  glit 
tered  on  her  finger. 

Yes,  it  was  there!  His  hand  had  pressed  it  upon 
hers;  his  lips  had  kissed  it  reverently.  Must  she  take 
it  off?  Was  there  no  way  of  concealing  the  precious 
golden  shackle,  that  seemed  to  hold  her  life  in  ? 

That  was  impossible.  That  small,  shapely  hand  had 
never  felt  the  touch  of  ornament  or  ring  before.  The 
blaze  of  it  seemed  to  light  the  whole  room.  Her  father 
would  see  it  and  question  her.  No,  no !  it  rnu^t  be  hid 
away  before  he  came.  She  ran  up-stairs,  opened  her 
bureau-drawer,  and  began  to  search  eagerly  for  a  ribbon 
narrow  enough  to  escape  attention.  Knots  of  pink,  and 
streamers  of  scarlet  were  there  neatly  arranged,  but  noth 
ing  that  might  answer  her  purpose,  except  a  thread  of 


ALONE     IN     THE     COTTAGE.  119 

black  ribbon  which  had  come  out  of  her  mourning  two 
years  before,  when  her  mother  died. 

Ruth  snatched  this  up  and  swung  her  wedding-ring 
upon  it,  too  much  excited  for  superstition  at  the  moment, 
and  glad  to  feel  the  perilous  gift  safe  in  her  bosom. 

Now  all  was  hidden,  no  trace  of  her  fault  had  been 
left.  She  might  dare  to  look  at  the  old  clock. 

It  lacked  an  hour  and  more  of  the  time  at  which  she 
might  expect  her  father.  Well,  fortunately,  she  had 
something  to  do.  His  supper  must  be  prepared.  She 
would  take  good  care  of  him  now.  He  should  lack 
nothing  at  her  hands,  since  she  had  given  him  such 
grievous  cause  of  offence. 

With  these  childlike  ideas  of  atonement  in  her  mind, 
Ruth  took  up  a  lamp,  and  going  into  the  kitchen,  kindled 
a  fire;  and  spreading  a  white  cloth  on  the  table,  set  out 
the  supper  her  father  had  desired  of  her.  Wlten  the 
cold  beef  and  mustard,  the  bread  and  cheese,  were  all 
daintily  arranged,  she  bethought  herself  of  his  most 
favored  dish  of  all,  and  taking  a  posset-dish  of  antique 
silver  from  the  cupboard,  half  filled  it  with  milk,  which 
she  set  upon  the  coals  to  boil.  Into  this  she  from  time 
to  time  broke  bits  of  wheaten  bread,  and  when  the  milk 
was  all  afoam,  poured  a  cup  of  strong  ale  into  it,  which 
instantly  resolved  the  whole  mass  into  golden  whey  and 
snow-white  curd. 

As  Ruth  stooped  over  the  posset-cup,  shading  her  face 
with  one  hand  from  the  fire,  and  stirring  its  contents 
gently  with  a  spoon,  a  noise  at  the  window  made  her 
start  and  cry  out  with  a  suddenness  that  nearly  upset  the 
silver  porringer. 

"Who  is  it?  WThat  is  it?"  she  faltered,  looking  at 
the  window  with  strained  eyes.  "  Oh,  have  mercy ! 
That  face,  that  face!" 


120  NORSTOX'S     REST. 

Before  she  could  move  away  from  the  hearth,  some 
one  shook  the  window-sash  so  violently,  that  a  rain  of 
dew  fell  from  the  ivy  clustering  around  it. 

Kuth  stood  appalled ;  every  vestige  of  color  fled  from 
her  face ;  but  she  gave  no  further  sign  of  the  terror  that 
shook  her  from  head  to  foot.  Directly  the  keen,  hand 
some  face  that  had  peered  through  the  glass  disappeared, 
and  the  footsteps  of  a  man  walking  swiftly  sounded  back 
from  the  gravel  path  which  led  to  the  front  door. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A    STORMY     ENCOUNTER. 

"OUTH  held  her  breath  and  listened.  She  heard  the 
-Ll>  door  open,  and  footsteps  in  the  little  passage. 
Then  her  natural  courage  aroused  itself,  and  lifting  the 
posset-cup  from  the  coals,  she  left  it  on  the  warm  hearth, 
and  met  the  intruder  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Is  it  you  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  quiver  of  fear  in  her 
voice.  "  I  am  sorry  father  is  not  at  home." 

"  But  I  am  not,"  answered  the  young  man,  setting 
down  a  gun  he  had  brought  in,  behind  the  door.  "  It 
was  just  because  he  wasn't  here,  and  I  knew  it,  that  I 
came  in.  It  is  high  time,  miss,  that  you  and  I  should 
have  a  talk  together,  and  no  father  to  put  in  his  word 
between  pipes." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  Why  should  you  wish  to  speak 
with  me  at  this  time  of  night?" 

"  Why,  now,  I  like  that,"  answered  the  young  fellow, 
with  a  laugh  that  made  Ruth  shudder.  "  Well,  I'll  just 


A     STORMY     ENCOUNTER.  121 

come  in  and  have  my  say.  There  mayn't  be  another 
chance  like  this." 

Richard  Storms  turned  and  advanced  a  step,  as  if  he 
meant  to  enter  the  little  parlor,  but  Ruth  called  him  back. 
It  seemed  to  her  like  desecration,  that  this  man  should 
tread  on  the  same  floor  that  Hurst,  her  husband — oh, 
how  the  thought  swelled  her  heart ! — had  walked  over. 

"Not  there/'  she  said.  "I  must  mind  my  father's 
supper.  He  will  be  home  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Well,  I  don't  much  care ;  the  kitchen  seems  more 
natural.  It  is  here  that  we  used  to  sit  before  the  young 
master  found  out  how  well-favored  you  are,  as  if  he 
couldn't  find  comely  faces  enough  at  the  house,  but  must 
come  poaching  down  here  on  my  warren." 

"  Who  are  you  speaking  of?  I  cannot  make  it  out," 
faltered  Ruth,  turning  cold. 

"  Who  ?  As  if  you  didn't  know  well  enough  ;  as  if  I 
didn't  see  you  and  him  talking  together  thick  as  two  bees 
this  very  morning." 

"  No,  no ! "  protested  Ruth,  throwing  out  both  her 
hands.  "  You  could  not — you  did  not !  " 

"  But  I  did,  though,  and  the  gun  just  trembled  of  itself 
in  my  hand,  it  so  wanted  to  be  at  him.  If  it  hadn't  been 
that  you  seemed  offish,  and  he  looked  black  as  a 
thunder-clap,  I  couldn't  have  kept  my  hand  from  the 
trigger." 

"  That  would  have  been  murder,"  whispered  the  girl, 
through  her  white  lips. 

"  Murder,  would  it  ?  That's  according  as  one  thinks. 
What  do  men  carry  a  gun  at  night  for,  let  me  ask  you, 
but  to  keep  the  deer  and  the  birds  safe  from  poachers  ? 
If  they  catch  them  at  it,  haven't  they  a  right  to  fire  ? 
Well,  Ruth,  you  are  my  game,  and  my  gun  takes  care 


122  NORSTON'S   REST. 

of  you  as  keepers  protect  the  deer.  It  will  be  safe  to 
warn  the  young  master  of  that !  " 

"  I  do  not  know — I  cannot  understand — " 

"Oh,  you  don't,  ha  !"  broke  in  the  young  man,  throw 
ing  himself  into  a  chair  and  stretching  out  his  legs  on  the 
hearth.  "  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  a  secret  about  him 
that'll  take  the  starch  out  of  your  pride.  You're  not  the 
only  girl  with  a  pretty  face  that  brings  him  among  my 
covers ! "  « 

"What?" 

"Ah,  ha !  Oh,  ho !  That  wakes  you  up,  does  it  ? 
I  thought  so.  Nothing  like  a  swoop  of  spite  to  bring  a 
girl  out  of  cover." 

"I  do  not  understand  you/' said  Ruth,  flashing  out 
upon  her  tormentor  with  sudden  spirit.  "  'What  have  I 
to  do  with  anything  von  are  talking  about  ?" 

J  O    */  O 

"  The  other  lass,  you  mean.  Not  much,  of  course.  It 
isn't  likely  he  put  her  in  your  way." 

A  burst  of  indignation,  perhaps  of  something  more 
stinging  than  that,  filled  the  splendid  eyes  with  fire  that 
Ruth  fixed  upon  her  tormentor. 

\  "  Do  you  know — can  you  even  guess  that  it  is  my — 
my—!" 

The  girl  broke  her  imprudent  speech  off  with  a  thrill 
of  warning  that  left  the  prints  of  her  white  teeth  on  the 
burning  lips  which  had  almost  betrayed  her.  In  her 
terror  the  insult  that  followed  was  almost  a  relief. 

"  Sweetheart ! "  sneered  the  young  man. 

She  did  not  heed  the  word  or  sneer ;  both  were  a  proof 
that  her  secret  was  safe  as  yet. 

"  One  up  at  the  house,  one  here,  and  another — well, 
no  matter  about  her.  You  understand?" 

"  You  slander  an  honorable  gentleman,"  said  Ruth, 
controlling  herself  with  a  great  effort. 


A     STORMY     ENCOUNTER.  123 

"  Do  I  ?  Ask  the  Lady  Rose,  if  she  ever  stoops  to 
speak  to  you." 

"  She  is  a  sweet,  gracious  lady/'  broke  in  Ruth,  mag 
nanimous  in  her  swift  jealousy.  "A  great  lady,  who 
refuses  speech  or  smile  to  no  one." 

"Ask  her,  then,  who  was  out  on  the  terrace  this  even 
ing,  before  he  came  home,  robbing  the  great  stone  vases 
of  their  sweetest  flowers  for  his  button-hole ! " 
*  Ruth  lifted  one  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  pressed  the 
golden  ring  there  close  to  her  heart. 

Then  turning  to  the  young  man,  who  was  watching 
her  keenly,  she  said,  with  composure : 

"  "Well,  why  should  you  or  I  ask  such  questions  of 
the  young  lady?  I  would  no  more  do  that  than  spy 
upon  her,  as  you  have  done  ! " 

Storms  looked  at  her  keenly  from  under  his  bent  brows, 
and  his  thin  lips  closed  with  a  baffled  expression. 

"  Off  the  scent,'7  he  thought.  "  What  is  it  ?  She  was 
hot  on  the  chase  just  now.  Has  she  really  doubled  on 
him?" 

"  It  needs  no  spying  to  see  what  goes  on  up  there,"  he 
answered,  after  a  moment,  waving  his  head  toward  the 
great  house.  "  Grand  people  like  them  think  we  have 
neither  eyes  nor  ears.  They  pay  us  for  being  without 
them,  and  think  we  earn  our  wages  like  dumb  cattle. 
Just  as  if  sharpness  went  with  money.  But  we  do  see 
and  hear,  when  they  would  be  glad  to  think  us  blind  and 
dumb!" 

The  girl  made  no  answer.  She  longed  to  question  the 
creature  she  despised,  and  had  a  fierce  struggle  with  her 
heart,  until  more  honorable  feelings  put  down  the  swift 
cravings  of  jealousy  that  were  wounding  her  heart,  as 
bees  sting  a  flower  while  rifling  it  of  honey. 


124 

The  young  man  watched  her  cunningly,  but  failed  to 
understand  her.  The  jealousy  which  made  him  so  cruel 
had  no  similitude  with  her  finer  and  keener  feelings.  He 
longed  to  see  her  break  out  in  a  tirade  of  abuse,  or  to 
have  her  question  him  broadly,  as  he  wished  to  answer. 

Ruth  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  In  the  tumult  of  feel 
ings  aroused  by  his  words  she  remembered  all  that  had 
been  done  that  day,  and,  with  sudden  vividness  of  recol 
lection,  the  promise  of  caution  she  had  made  to  her  hus 
band. 

Her  husband !  She  pressed  her  hand  against  her 
bosom,  where  the  wedding-ring  lay  hid,  and  a  glorified 
expression  came  to  her  face  as  she  turned  it  toward  the 
firelight,  absolutely  forgetful  that  a  hateful  intruder 
shared  it  with  her. 

Richard  Storms  was  baffled,  and  a  little  saddened  by 
the  strange  beauty  in  the  face  his  eyes  were  searching. 

"  Ruth  ! "  he  said  at  length.     "  Ruth  ! " 

The  girl  started.  His  voice  had  dragged  her  out  of  a 
dream  of  heaven.  She  looked  around  vaguely  on  find 
ing  herself  on  earth  again,  and  with  him. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  impatiently,  "  what  would  you  say 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Just  this :  when  is  it  to  be  ?  I  am  really  tired  of 
waiting." 

"  Tired  of  waiting ! "  said  Ruth,  impatiently.  "  Wait 
ing  for  what?" 

"  Why,  for  our  wedding-day.     What  else ? " 

The  proud  blood  of  an  empress  seemed  to  flame  up 
into  the  girl's  face ;  a  smile,  half  rage,  half  scorn,  curved 
her  lips,  which,  finally,  relaxed  into  a  clear,  ringing 
laugh. 

"  You — you  think  to  marry  me ! "  was  her  broken  ex 
clamation,  as  the  untoward  laugh  died  out. 


A     S  TOR  MY      ENCOUNTER.  125 

The  young  man  turned  fiery  red.  The  scornfulness 
of  that  laugh  stung  him,  and  he  returned  it  with  interest. 

"No  wonder  you  ask,"  he  said,  with  a  sharp,  venom 
ous  look,  from  which  she  shrunk  instinctively.  "  It 
isn't  every  honest  man  that  would  hold  to  his  bargain, 
after  all  these  galivantings  with  the  young  master." 

Ruth  turned  white  as  snow,  and  caught  hold  of  a  chair 
for  support.  '  Her  evident  terror  seemed  to  appease  the 
tormentor,  and  he  continued,  with  a  relenting  laugh, 

"  Don't  be  put  about,  though.  I'm  too  fond  to  be 
jealous,  because  my  sweetheart  takes  a  turn  now  and  then 
in  the  moonlight  when  she  thinks  no  one  is  looking." 

"  Your  sweetheart !     Yours  !  " 

Storms  waved  his  hand,  and  went  on. 

"Though,  mind  me,  all  this  must  stop  when  we're 
married." 

Ruth  had  no  disposition  to  laugh  now.  The  very 
mention  of  Hurst  had  made  a  coward  of  her.  Storms 
saw  how  pale  she  was,  and  came  toward  her. 

"  There,  now,  give  us  a  kiss,  and  make  up.  It's  all 
settled  between  father  and  the  old  man,  so  just  be  con 
formable,  and  I'll  say  nothing  about  the  young  master." 

As  the  young  man  came  toward  her,  with  his  arms 
extended,  Ruth  drew  back,  step  by  step,  with  such  fright 
and  loathing  in  her  eyes  that  his  temper  rose  again. 
With  startling  suddenness  he  gave  a  leap,  and,  flinging 
one  arm  around  her,  attempted  to  force  her  averted  face 
to  his. 

One  sharp  cry,  one  look,  and  Ruth  fell  to  the  floor, 
quivering  like  a  shot  bird. 

She  had  seen  the  door  open,  and  caught  one  glimpse  of 
her  husband's  face.  Then  a  powerful  blow  followed,  and 
Richard  Storms  went  reeling  across  the  kitchen,  and 
struck  with  a  crash  against  the  opposite  wall. 


126  NOR s TON'S   REST. 

Euth  remembered  afterward,  as  one  takes  up  the  pain 
ful  visions  of  a  dream,  the  deadly  venom  of  those  eyes; 
the  gray  whiteness  of  that  aquiline  face ;  the  specks  of 
foam  that  flew  from  those  half-open  lips.  She  saw,  too, 
the  slow  retreat  during  which  those  threatening  features 
were  turned  upon  her  husband.  Then  all  was  blank — 
she  had  fainted  away. 

For  some  moments  it  seemed  as  if  the  girl  were  dead, 
she  lay  so  limp  and  helpless  on  her  husband's  bosom ; 
but  the  burning  words  that  rose  from  his  lips,  the  kisses 
he  rained  down  upon  hers,  brought  a  stir  of  life  back  to 
her  heart.  Awaking  with  a  dim  sense  of  danger,  she 
clung  to  him,  shivering  and  in  tears. 

"  Where  is  he  ?     Oh,  Walton  !  is  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Gone,  the  hound  !     Yes,  darling,  to  his  kennel." 

"  Ah,  how  he  frightened  me !  " 

"  But  how  dare  he  enter  this  house  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell — only — only  my  father  has  not  come 
home  yet.  Oh,  I — I  hate  him.  He  frightens  me.  He 
threatens  me." 

"  Threatens  you  !     When  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Walton  !  he  has  seen  us  together.  He  will  bring 
you  into  trouble." 

"  Not  easily." 

"Your  father?" 

"  Is  not  a  man  to  listen  to  the  gossip  of  his  servants." 

Ruth  drew  a  deep  breath.  Walton  had  concealed  his 
real  anxiety  so  well,  that  her  own  fears  were  calmed. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said ;  "we  must  not  let  this  hind 
embitter  the  few  minutes  I  can  spend  with  you.  Look 
up,  love,  and  tell  me  that  you  are  better." 

"Oh  !  I  am  ;  but  lie  frightened  m£  so." 

"And  now?" 


A     STORMY-    ENCOUNTER.  127 

Hurst  folded  the  fair  girl  in  his  arms,  and  smoothed 
her  bright  hair  with  a  caressing  hand. 

"  Now  ! "  she  answered,  lifting  her  mouth,  which  had 
grown  red  again,  and  timidly  returning  his  kisses.  "  Now 
I  am  safe,  and  I  fear  nothing.  Oh,  mercy  !  Look  !  " 

"What?     Where?" 

"  The  window  !     That  face  at  the  window !  " 

"  It  is  your  fancy,  darling.     I  see  nothing  there." 

"  But  I  saw  it.  Surely  I  did.  His  keen,  wicked  face. 
It  was  close  to  the  glass." 

"  There,  there  !  It  was  only  the  ivy  leaves  glancing 
in  the  moonlight." 

"  No,  no  !     I  saw  it.     He  is  waiting  for  you." 

"  Let  him  wait.  I  shall  not  stir  a  step  the  sooner  or 
later  for  that," 

Ruth  began  to  tremble  again.  Her  eyes  were  con 
stantly  turning  toward  the  window.  She  scarcely  heard 
the  words  of  endearment  with  which  Hurst  strove  to 
reassure  her.  All  at  once  the  old  clock  filled  the  house 
with  its  brazen  warning.  It  was  ten  o'clock.  The  girl 
sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  It  is  time  for  my  father  to  come.  He  must  not  find 
you  here." 

Hurst  took  his  hat,  and  glancing  down  at  his  dinner 
dress,  remembered  that  he  would  be  missed  from  the 
drawing-room.  Once  more  he  enfolded  the  girl  in  his 
arms,  called  her  by  the  new  endearing  name  that  was  so 
sweet  to  them  both,  and  finally  left  her  smiling  through 
all  her  fears. 

Ruth  stole  to  the  little  oriel  window,  and  watched  her 
husband  as  he  turned  from  the  moonlight  and  entered 
the  shadows  of  the  park.  Then  she  went  back  to  the 
kitchen  and  busied  herself  about  the  fire. 


128  NORS  TON'S    BEST. 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

AN     ENCOUNTER. 

"TYTIIEN  Richard  Storms  left  the  gardener's  cottage, 
VV  he  dashed  like  a  wild  beast  into  the  densest 
thickets  of  the  forest,  and  tore  his  way  through  toward 
his  own  home.  It  gave  him  a  sort  of  tigerish  pleasure 
to  tear  at  the  thickets  with  his  fierce  hands,  and  trample 
the  forest  turf  beneath  his  iron-shod  heels,  for  the  rage 
within  him  was  brutal  in  its  thirst  for  destruction.  All 
at  once  he  stopped  short,  seemed  to  remember  some 
thing  and  turned  back,  plunging  along  at  a  heavy  but 
swift  pace,  uow  through  the  shadows,  now  in  the  moon 
light,  unconscious  of  the  quiet  beauty  of  either. 

It  took  him  but  a  brief  time  to  reach  the  cottage, 
around  which  he  pondered  a  while,  stealing  in  and  out  of 
the  tangled  vines  which  hung  in  thick  draperies  around 
the  buildino1.  At  last  Ruth  saw  his  face  at  the  kitchen 

o 

window,  and  gave  a  sharp  cry  that  drove  him  away, 
more  fiercely  wrathful  than  ever,  for  he  had  seen  the 
creature  he  worshipped  after  a  rude  fashion  giving 
caresses  to  another,  that  he  would  have  gone  on  his 
grovelling  knees  to  have  secured  to  himself. 

"  Jessup  promised  my  father  that  I  should  wed  her, 
and  it  has  come  to  this,"  he  grumbled  fiercely,  as  if 
tearing  the  words  between  his  teeth.  "  On  the  night  I 
had  set  aside  to  win  an  answer  for  myself,  the  young 
master  hustles  me  out  of  the  door  like  a  dog,  and  takes 
the  kennel  himself.  He  thinks  I  am  not  man  enough 
to  bark  back  when  he  kicks  me,  does  he?  Pie  shall  see! 
He  shall  see!  Bark!  Xay,  my  fine  fellow,  it  shail  be 


A  N     E  N  C  O  U  N  T  E  R .  129 

biting  this  time.  A  growl  and  a  snap  isn't  enough  for 
kicks  and  blows." 

The  wrath  of  this  man  was  less  fiery  now,  but  it 
had  taken  a  stern,  solid  strength,  more  dangerous  than 
the  first  outburst  of  passion.  He  sought  no  particular 
path  as  he  left  the  house,  but  stamped  forward  with 
heavy  feet,  as  if  he  were  trampling  down  something  that 
he  hated  viciously,  now  and  then  gesticulating  in  the 
moonlight,  till  his  very  shadow  seemed  to  be  fighting  its 
way  along  the  turf. 

All  at  once  he  came  upon  another  man,  who  had  left 
the  great  chestnut  avenue,  and  turned  into  a  side  path, 
which  led  to  the  gardener's  passage.  The  two  men 
stopped,  and  one  spoke  cheerfully. 

"Why,  good-night,  Dick.  This  is  late  to  be  out. 
Anything  going  wrong?" 

"  Wrong  ! "  said  the  other,  hoarsely.  "  Yes,  wrong 
enough  to  cost  a  man  his  life  some  day.  Go  up  yonder, 
and  ask  your  daughter  Ruth  what  it  is.  She'll  tell,  no 
doubt — ask  her!" 

Richard  Storms,  after  flinging  these  words  at  his 
father's  friend,  attempted  to  push  by  him  on  the  path ; 
but  Jessup  stood  resolutely  in  his  way. 

"  What  is  all  this,  my  lad  ?  Nay,  now,  you  haven't 
been  to  the  cottage  while  I  was  away,  and  frightened  the 
girl  about  what  we  were  talking  of.  I  should  take  that 
unfriendly,  Dick.  Our  Ruth  is  a  bit  dainty,  and  should 
have  had  time  to  think  over  such  matters." 

"  Dainty !  I  should  think  so.  She  looks  high  in  her 
sweethearting ;  I  must  say  that  for  her." 

"  What  is  it  you  are  saying  of  my  daughter  ? "  cried 
Jessup,  doubling  his  great  brown  fist,  unconsciously. 

"  I  say  that  a  man  like  me  has  a  chance  of  getting 
8 


]  30  N  0  R  S  T  O  N  '  S     REST. 

more  kicks  than  kisses  when  he  seeks  her/7  answered 
Dick,  with  a  sneer. 

"And  serves  him  right,  if  he  dared  to  ask  such  things 
of  her  mother's  child,"  said  Jessup,  growing  angiy. 

"  But  what  if  he  only  asked,  honest  fashion,  for  an 
honest  wife,  as  I  did,  and  got  kicks  in  return  ?" 

"  Kicks !  Why,  man,  who  was  there  to  give  them, 
and  I  away?"  questioned  the  gardener,  astonished. 

"One  who  shall  pay  for  it! "was  the  answer  that 
came  hissing  through  the  young  man's  lips. 

"Of  course,  one  don't  give  kicks  and  expect  farthings 
back ;  but  who  has  got  up  pluck  to  try  this  with  you, 
Dick  ?  He  must  be  mad  to  dare  it." 

"He  is  mad!"  answered  Storms,  grinding  his  teeth. 
"  Mad  or  not,  no  man  but  the  master's  son  would  have 
dared  it." 

"  The  master's  son !  Are  you  drunk  or  crazy,  Dick 
Storms?" 

"I  almost  think  both.  Who  can  tell?"  muttered 
Dick.  "  But  it's  not  with  drink." 

"  The  master's  son  !  but  where — when  ?  " 

"At  your  own  house,  where  he  has  been  more  than 
once,  when  he  thought  sure  to  find  Ruth  alone." 

"  Dick  Storms,  this  is  a  lie." 

Dick  burst  into  a  hoarse  laugh. 

"A  lie,  is  it  ?  Go  up  yonder,  now.  Walk  quick,  and 
you'll  see  whether  it  is  the  truth  or  not." 

Jessup  rushed  forward  a  step  or  two,  then  came  back, 
as  if  ashamed  of  the  action. 

"  Nay,  there  is  no  need.  I'll  not  help  you  belie  my 
own  child." 

"Belie  her,  is  it?  I  say,  Bill  Jessup,  not  half  an 
Lour  ago,  I  saw  Ruth,  your  daughter,  with  her  head  on 


AN     ENCOUNTER.  131 

the  young  master's  bosom,  and  her  mouth  red  with  his 
kisses.  If  you  don't  believe  this,  go  and  see  for  yourself." 

The  florid  face  of  William  Jessup  turned  to  marble  in 
the  moonlight,  and  a  fierce,  hot  flame  leaped  to  his  eyes. 

"  I  will  not  walk  a  pace  quicker,  or  be  made  to  spy 
on  my  girl,  by  anything  you  can  say,  Dick ;  not  if  it  were 
to  save  my  own  life ;  but  I  like  you,  lad — your  father 
and  I  are  fast  friends.  We  meant  that,  by-and-by,  you 
and  Ruth  should  come  together." 

Storms  flung  up  his  head  with  an  insulting  sneer. 

"  Together !  Not  if  every  hair  on  her  head  was 
weighed  down  with  sovereigns.  I  am  an  honest  man, 
William  Jessup,  and  will  take  an  honest  woman  home 
to  my  mother,  or  take  none." 

Before  the  words  left  his  lips,  Richard  Storms  re 
ceived  a  blow  that  sent  him  with  his  face  upward  across 
the  forest  path  ;  and  William  Jessup  was  walking  with 
great  strides  toward  his  own  cottage. 

It  was  seldom  that  Jessup  gave  way  to  such  passion  as 
had  overcome  him  now,  and  he  had  not  walked  a 
dozen  paces  before  he  regretted  it  with  considerable 
self-upbraiding. 

"  The  lad  is  jealous  of  every  one  that  looks  at  my  lass, 
and  speaks  out  of  range  because  she  is  a  bit  offish 
with  him.  Poor  darling,  she  has  no  mother ;  and  the 
thought  of  marrying  frightens  her.  It  troubles  me,  too. 
Sometimes  I  feel  a  spite  toward  the  lad,  for  wanting  to 
take  her  from  me.  It  makes  me  restless  to  think  of  it. 
I  wonder  if  any  living  man  ever  gave  up  his  daughter  to 
a  sweetheart  without  a  grip  of  pain  at  the  heart  ?  I  think 
it  wasn't  so  much  the  mad  things  he  said  that  made  my 
fist  so  unmanageable,  for  that  come  of  too  much  drink, 
of  course ;  but  since  he  has  begun  to  press  this  matter, 
I'm  getting  heartsore  about  losing  the  girl." 


132  NORSTON'S   BEST. 

With  these  thoughts  in  his  mind,  Jessnp  came  within 
sight  of  his  own  home,  and  paused  in  front  of  it. 

How  cool  arid  pleasant  it  looked  in  the  moonlight, 
with  the  shadowy  vines  flickering  over  it,  and  a  golden 
light  from  the  kitchen  window  brightening  the  dew  upon 
them  into  crystal  drops!  The  very  tranquillity  soothed 
the  disturbed  man  before  he  entered  the  porch. 

"  I  wonder  if  it'll  ever  be  the  same  again  when  she  is 
gone,"  he  said,  speaking  his  thoughts  aloud,  and  drawing 
the  hand  that  had  struck  down  young  Storms  across  his 
eyes.  "  No,  no ;  I  must  not  expect  that." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FATHER     AND     DAUGHTER. 

13  UTH  did  not  come  forth  to  receive  her  father.  This 
J-  V)  was  strange,  for  a  trip  to  London,  with  these  simple 
people,  was  a  great  event,  and  it  seemed  to  Jessup  as  if 
he  had  been  gone  a  year. 

When  he  entered  the  kitchen,  Ruth  was  busy  at  the 
table  moving  the  dishes  with  unsteady  hands  ;  but  when 
lie  spoke,  she  came  forward  with  breathless  eagerness, 
and  made  herself  very  busy  taking  off  his  dusty  things, 
which  she  shook,  and  folded  with  wonderful  care. 

Spite  of  his  utter  disbelief  in  the  coarse  accusations 
made  by  Storms  in  the  park,  Jessup  watched  his  d°ugh- 
ter  anxiously.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  looked  paler  than 
usual,  and  that  all  her  movements  were  suspiciously  rest 
less.  Besides  this,  he  observed,  with  a  sinking  heart,  that 
her  eyes  never  once  met  his  with  their  own  frank  smile. 


FATHER     AND     DAUGHTER.  133 

Could  it  be  that  there  was  some  shadow  of  truth  in 
what  Storms  had  said  ?  He  would  not  believe  it. 

"  Come,  father,  the  posset  is  ready.  I  have  been  keep 
ing  it  warm." 

Ruth  stood  on  the  hearth  then,  with  the  antique  silver 
posset-cup,  which  had  been  his  grandmother's,  in  her 
hand.  The  firelight  was  full  upon  her,  concealing  the 
pallor  of  her  face  with  its  golden  flicker.  Surely  there 
could  be  nothing  wrong  under  that  sweet  look. 

The  gardener  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief  as  he  accepted 
this  thought,  and  his  anger  toward  Dick  Storms  grew 
deep  and  bitter. 

"  Come,  lass,"  he  said,  with  more  than  usual  affection, 
"sit  down  here  by  my  side.  The  posset  is  rare  and 
good ;  while  I  eat  it,  you  shall  tell  me  of  all  that  has 
been  done  since  I  went  away." 

All  that  had  been  done  since  he  went  away  !  Would 
Ruth  ever  dare  to  tell  her  father  that?  The  very  thought 
sent  up  a  rush  of  blood  to  her  face. 

"  Oh,  father !  there  is  little  to  be  done  when  you  are 
away.  I  did  not  even  care  to  cook  my  own  supper." 

"Ah!  well,  take  it  now,  child,"  said  the  good  man, 
pouring  half  his  warm  posset  into  an  old  china  bowl, 
and  pushing  it  toward  her. 

"  No,  no,  father,  I  am  not  hungry.  I  think  the  cook 
ing  of  food  takes  away  one's  appetite." 

"  Nay,  eat.  It  is  lonesome  work,  with  no  one  to  help 
me,"  said  the  father,  who  certainly  had  no  cause  to  com 
plain  of  his  own  appetite.  Ruth  stirred  the  posset  lan 
guidly  with  her  spoon,  and  strove  to  swallow  a  little; 
but  the  effort  almost  choked  her.  It  might  be  fancy ; 
but  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  her  father  was  fur 
tively  regarding  her  all  the  time,  and  the  idea  filled  her 
with  dismay. 


134  KORS  TON?S     REST. 

Something  of  the  same  feeling  possessed  her  father. 
Inherent  kindness  made  him  peculiarly  sensitive,  and  he 
did  not  know  how  to  question  his  daughter  of  the  things 
that  disturbed  him,  without  wounding  her  and  himself  too. 

In  this  perplexity,  he  ate  with  that  ravenous  haste 
which  sometimes  springs  from  an  unconsciousness  of 
what  we  are  doing  when  under  the  pressure  of  great 
mental  excitement.  He  was  astonished  when  his  spoon 
scraped  on  the  bottom  of  that  silver  posset-cup.  He  sat 
for  a  moment  embarrassed  and  uncertain  how  to  begin. 
Where  the  feelings  of  his  daughter  were  concerned,  Jes- 
sup  was  a  coward ;  to  him  she  had  been,  from  her  very 
babyhood,  a  creature  to  worship  and  care  for  with  a  sort 
of  tender  reverence.  So,  with  cowardice  born  of  too 
much  love,  he  thought  to  cheat  himself,  and  bade  her 
bring  the  little  carpet-bag  that  had  been  his  companion 
to  London,  and  which  he  had  dropped  near  the  door. 

Ruth,  glad  of  anything  that  promised  to  distract  her 
mind  from  its  anxieties,  brought  the  bag,  and  stood  over 
her  father  while  he  unlocked  it. 

"  See,  child,"  he  said,  taking  out  a  parcel  done  up  in 
filmy  paper,  "I  have  brought  some  fill-falls  from  London, 
thinking  my  lass  would  be  glad  of  them.  Look,  now! " 

Here  Jessup  unrolled  a  ribbon,  which  streamed  half 
across  the  room,  as  he  shook  out  its  scarlet  waves. 

"  Isn't  that  something  like,  now?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  beautiful ! "  cried  the  girl,  with  true  feminine 
delight.  "My  clear,  dear  father  !" 

"  I  remembered — but  no  matter  about  that.  My  little 
Ruth  is  like  a  rose,  and  must  have  color  like  one.  See 
what  I  have  brought  to  go  with  the  ribbon." 

"  White  muslin,"  cried  Ruth,  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 
"  Fine  enough  for  the  Lady  Rose.  How  beautifully  the 


FATHER     AND     DAUGHTER.  135 

scarlet  sash  will  loop  it  up !  Oh,  father,  who  told  you 
how  well  these  things  would  go  together  ?  " 

"  I  guessed  it  one  day  when  the  Lady  Rose  came  here 
with  a  lot  of  stuff  like  that,  puffed  and  looped  with  a 
ribbon  bright  as  the  field-poppies  about  her.  You  didn't 
know  then,  my  lass,  that  your  father  felt  like  crying  too, 
when  he  saw  tears  in  his  child's  eyes,  because  she  craved 
a  fine  dress  and  bonny  colors  for  herself,  and  never 
thought  to  get  it.  There,  now,  you  must  get  the  best 
seamstress  in  the  village  to  make  it." 

"  No,  no !  I  will  make  it  with  my  own  hands.  Oh, 
father !  father !  how  good,  how  kind  you  are !  " 

Dropping  the  sash  and  the  muslin  from  her  hold,  Ruth 
threw  her  arms  around  Jessup's  neck,  and,  bursting  into 
tears,  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  So,  so  !  That  will  never  do,"  cried  the  kind-hearted 
man,  smoothing  the  girl's  hair  with  his  great  hand, 
tenderly,  as  if  he  were  afraid  his  very  fondness  might 
hurt  her.  "  If  you  cry  so,  I  shall  turn  the  key,  and  lock 
all  the  other  things  up." 

Ruth  lifted  her  sweet  face,  all  bedewed  with  penitent 
tears,  and  laid  it  close  to  the  weather-beaten  cheek  of  the 
man. 

"  Oh,  father !  don't  be  so  good  to  me !  It  breaks  my 
heart!" 

Jessup  took  her  face  between  his  hands,  and  kissed  it 
on  the  forehead,  then  pushed  her  pleasantly  on  one  side, 
and  thrust  his  hand  into  the  bag  again.  This  time  it  was 
drawn  forth  with  a  pretty  pair  of  high-heeled  boots,  all 
stitched  with  silk,  and  circled  about  the  ankles  with  a 
wreath  of  exquisite  embroidery. 

"There,  now,  we  will  leave  the  rest  till  to-morrow," 
he  said,  closing  the  box  with  a  mysterious  look.  "  Only 
say  that  you  are  pleased  with  these." 


136  HOUSTON'S   REST. 

"Pleased  !     Oh,  father,  it  is  the  dress  of  a  lady !" 

"  Well,  even  so.  One  day  my  Ruth  may  be  next  door 
to  that/'  said  Jessup,  putting  forth  all  his  affectionate 
craft.  "  Farmer  Storms  is  a  warm  man,  and  Dick  is  his 
only  son.  It  is  the  lad's  own  right  if  he  sometimes 
brings  his  gun  and  shoots  our  game — his  father  has  an 
interest  in  it,  you  know.  The  master  has  no  right  over 
his  farm,  and  birds  swarm  there." 

Jessup  stopped  suddenly,  for  Ruth  stood  before  him 
white  and  still  as  marble,  the  ribbon  which  she  had  taken 
from  the  floor  streaming  from  her  hand  in  vivid  contrast 
with  the  swift  pallor  that  had  settled  upon  her. 

"  Lass  !  Ruth,  I  say  !  What  has  come  over  you  ?  " 
cried  out  the  gardener,  in  alarm.  "  What  have  I  done 
to  make  you  turn  so  white  all  in  a  minute  ?  " 

"Done!    Nothing,  father — nothing!"  gasped  the  girl. 

"But  your  are  ill!" 

"Yes,  a  little;  but  nothing  to — to  trouble  you  so." 

Ruth  stood  a  moment  after  this,  with  one  hand  on  her 
temple,  then  she  turned,  with  a  show  of  strength,  to  her 
father. 

"  What  were  you  saying  just  now  about  farmer  Storms, 
and — and  his  sou?  I  don't  think  I  quite  understood, 
did  I?" 

Jessup  was  now  almost  as  white  as  his  daughter.  Her 
emotion  kindled  up  a  gleam  of  suspicion,  which  had 
hung  about  him  in  spite  of  himself,  though  he  had  left 
Richard  Storms  prostrate  across  the  forest  path  for  hav 
ing  inspired  it. 

"  Ruth,  has  not  Dick  Storms  told  you  to-night  that 
both  he  and  his  father  are  getting  impatient  to  have  you 
at  the  farm  ?  "  he  questioned,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Dick— Dick  Storms,  father ! " 


FATHER     AND     DAUGHTER.  137 

u  I  ask  you,  Ruth.  Has  he  been  here,  and  did  he  tell 
you?" 

"  He  was  here,  father,"  faltered  the  girl. 

"  And  he  asked  you  ?  " 

"  He  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,"  answered  the  girl,  with 
a  shudder. 

"Well!" 

"  His  wife  at  once ;  and  you  promised  that  he  should 
not  come  until  I  was  better  prepared.  Oh,  father,  it  was 
cruel.  He  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  I  must  be 
whatever  he  wished." 

"  That  was  ill-timed ;  but  Dick  has  been  kept  back, 
and  he  is  so  fond  of  you,  Ruth." 

"Fond  of  me?  Of  me?  No,  no!  The  thought  is 
awful." 

"  It  was  his  loving  impatience  that  broke  forth  at  the 
wrong  time.  Nothing  could  be  worse ;  but  you  were  not 
very  harsh  with  him,  Ruth?" 

"  I  could  not  help  it,  father,  he  was  so  rude." 

"  Hang  the  fellow !  I  hope  he  won't  get  over  the 
buffet  I  gave  him  in  one  while.  The  fool  should  have 
known  better  than  treat  my  daughter  with  so  little 
ceremony.  She  is  of  a  daintier  sort  than  he  often  mates 
with.  He  deserves  all  he  has  gotten  from  her  and  from 
me." 

While  these  thoughts  were  troubling  Jessup's  mind, 
Ruth  stood  before  him  with  tears  swelling  under  her  eye 
lids,  till  the  long,  black  lashes  were  heavy  with  them. 
They  touched  the  father's  heart. 

"  Don't  fret,  child.  A  few  hasty  words  in  answer  to 
over  rough  wooing  can  easily  be  made  up  for.  The 
young  man  was  sorely  put  about;  but  I  rated  him 
soundly  for  coming  here  when  I  was  away.  He  will 
think  twice  before  he  does  it  again." 


138  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"  He  must  never  do  it  again.  Never — never ! "  cried 
Ruth,  desperately.  "See  to  that,  father.  He  never 
must." 

"Kuth!" 

"  Oh,  father,  do  not  ask  me  ever  to  see  this  man  again. 
I  cannot — I  cannot ! " 

"Hush,  child — hush!  It  is  only  a  quarrel,  which 
must  not  break  the  compact  of  a  lifetime.  Till  now,  you 
and  Dick  have  always  been  good  friends." 

"Have  we?  I  don't  know.  Not  lately,  I'm  sure; 
and  we  never,  never  can  be  anything  like  friends  again." 

"Kuth!" 

The  girl  lifted  her  great  wild  eyes  to  her  father,  and 
dropped  them  again.  She  was  too  much  terrified  for 
tears  now. 

"  Ruth,  was  any  person  here  to-night  beyond  Dick  ?  " 

The  girl  did  not  answer.  She  seemed  turning  to  stone. 
Her  silence  irritated  the  poor  man,  who  stood  watching 
like  a  criminal  for  her  reply.  He  spoke  more  sharply. 

"  Did  you  hear  me,  Kuth  ?" 

"Yes/Ihear." 

"  I  asked  if  any  one  was  here  besides  Dick  ?" 

"Yes." 

Jessup  could  hardly  hear  this  little  word  as  it  dropped 
painfully  from  those  white  lips ;  but  he  understood  it ; 
and  spoke  again. 

"Who  was  it,  Ruth?" 

"Young  Mr.  Hurst." 

"  He  was  here,  then.     What  brought  him  ?" 

"  He  came — he  came — " 

"Well!" 

"  He  did  not  tell  me  why  he  came,  father.  It  was  all 
too  sudden ;  and  he  was  very  angry." 


FATHER     AND     DAUGHTER.  139 

"  Too  sudden  ?     Angry  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Dick  Storms  frightened  me  so,  and  Mr.  Hurst  saw 
it,  just  as  he  came  in.  I  could  have  struck  him  myself, 
father  ! "  cried  the  girl,  and  her  pale  face  flamed  up  with 
a  remembrance  of  the  indignity  offered  her. 

Jessup  clenched  his  fist. 

"  Why,  what  did  the  young  man  do  ?  " 

"  He  would  not  believe  that  his  offer  was  hateful  to 
me,  and — and  acted  as  if  I  had  said  yes." 

"  I  understand.  The  idiot !  But  he  must  have  been 
drinking,  Ruth." 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  only  hope  you  will  never  let 
him  come  here  again." 

"  But  he  will  be  sorry,  Ruth.  You  must  not  be  too 
hard  on  the  young  fellow." 

"  Hard  upon  him  ?     Oh,  father ! " 

"  He  has  had  a  tough  lesson.  But  young  Hurst — 
what  did  he  do  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you,  it  was  so  sudden  and  violent. 
All  in  a  minute  Dick  was  hurled  against  the  wall,  and 
through  the  door.  Then  there  was  a  struggle,  deep, 
hoarse  words,  and  Dick  was  gone." 

"  Was  that  all?" 

"  Yes,  all  that  passed  between  Mr.  Hurst  and  Dick. 
There  was  no  time  for  talking." 

"And  after  that?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  Dick  did." 

"But  Mr.  Hurst?" 

"  He — he  stayed  a  while.     I  was  so  frightened,  so — " 

"Ah,  he  stayed  a  while.     That  was  kind." 

"A7ery  kind,  father!" 

"  Ruth,"  said  the  gardener,  struggling  with  himself  to 
speak  firmly,  and  yet  with  kindness,  "  there  was  some- 


140  NORSTON'S   REST. 

thing  more.  After  Dick  left,  or  before  that,  did  Mr. 
Hurst — that  is,  were  you  more  forgiving  to  him  than 
you  were  to  Storms  ?  " 

"  I — I  do  not  understand,  father." 

She  does  understand,  thought  Jessnp,  turning  his  eyes 
away  from  her  burning  face,  heart-sick  with  apprehen 
sion.  Then  he  nerved  himself,  and  spoke  again. 

"  Ruth,  I  met  Dick  in  the  park,  and  he  made  a  strange 
charge  against  you." 

"Against  me!" 

"  He  says  that  insults  greater  than  he  would  have 
dared  to  offer,  but  for  which  he  was  kicked  from  my 
door,  were  forgiven  to  young  Mr.  Hurst.  Nay,  that 
you  encouraged  them." 

"And  you  believed  this,  father?"  questioned  the  girl, 
turning  her  eyes  full  upon  those  that  were  searching  her 
face  with  such  questioning  anxiety. 

"  No,  Ruth,  I  did  not  want  to  believe  him ;  but  how 
happened  it  that  the  young  master  came  here  so  late  at 
night?" 

"  Oh,  father !     "Why  do  you  question  me  so  sharply?" 

The  panic  that  whitened  Ruth's  face,  the  terror  that 
shook  her  voice,  gave  force  to  the  suspicion  that  poor 
man  had  been  trying  so  hard  to  quench.  It  stung  him 
like  a  serpent  now,  and  he  started  up,  exclaiming : 

"With  one  or  the  other,  there  is  an  account  to  be 
settled  before  I  sleep." 

William  Jessup  seized  his  cap  and  went  out  into  the 
park,  leaving  Ruth  breathless  with  astonishment.  She 
stole  to  the  window,  and  looked  after  him,  seized  with 
uncontrollable  dread.  How  long  she  sat  there  Ruth 
could  never  tell ;  but  after  a  while,  the  stillness  of  the 
night  was  broken  by  the  sharp  report  of  a  gun. 


THE     TWO    THAT    LOVED     HIM.  141 

CHAPTER    XX. 

THE     TWO     THAT     LOVED     HIM. 

A  CROSS  one  of  the  moonlit  paths  of  the  park  lay  the 
-£j-  form  of  a  man,  with  his  face  turned  upward, 
white  and  still  as  the  moonbeams  that  fell  upon  it.  A 
little  way  farther  on,  where  the  great  boughs  of  a  cedar 
of  Lebanon  flung  mighty  shadows  on  the  forest  sward, 
another  figure  lay,  scarcely  perceptible  in  the  darkness, 
of  which  it  seemed  only  a  denser  part.  Between  the 
two,  some  rays  of  light  struck  obliquely  on  the  lock  of  a 
gun,  which  was  half  buried  in  dewy  fern-leaves. 

One  sharp  crack  of  that  rifle  had  rung  through  the 
stillness  of  the  night.  Two  men  had  fallen,  and  then 
the  same  sweet,  calm  repose  settled  on  the  park.  But  it 
was  only  for  a  minute. 

Scarcely  had  the  sound  reached  the  gardener's  cottage, 
when  the  door  flew  open,  and  dashing  out  through  the 
porch  came  a  young  girl,  white  with  fear,  and  wild  with 
a  terrible  desire  to  know  the  worst.  She  had  given  one 
]ook  behind  the  entrance-door  as  she  fled  through  it,  and 
saw  that  the  gun  which  Richard  Storms  had  left  there 
was  gone.  She  had  seen  it  since  he  went,  and  its  absence 
turned  her  fears  to  a  panic. 

Through  a  window  of  the  drawing-room,  up  at  "Nor 
ton's  Rest,"  another  figure  rushed  in  wild  haste.  She 
ran  blindly  against  one  of  the  great  marble  vases  on  the 
terrace,  and  shook  the  sweet  masses  of  dew-laden  foliage 
till  they  rained  a  storm  of  drops  upon  her  bare  arms  and 
soft  floating  garments. 

For  a  moment  Lady  Rose,  for  it  was  she,  leaned  against 


142  NORSTON'S   REST. 

the  marble,  stunned  and  bewildered.  The  shot  she  had 
heard  in  the  depths  of  the  park  had  pierced  her  heart 
with  a  terrible  fear. 

Then  she  knew  that,  for  a  time,  the  music  within  had 
ceased,  and  that  the  company  would  be  swarming  that 
way,  to  irritate  her  by  questions  that  would  be  a  cruel 
annoyance  while  the  sound  of  that  shot  was  ringing  in 
her  ears. 

Swift  as  lightning,  wild  as  a  night-hawk,  the  girl 
darted  away  from  the  vase,  leaving  a  handful  of  gossamer 
lace  among  the  thorns  of  the  roses,  and  fled  down  the 
steps.  She  took  no  path,  but,  guided  by  that  one  sound, 
dashed  through  the  flower-beds,  heedless  that  her  satin 
boots  sunk  into  the  moist  mould,  wetting  her  feet  at  every 
step ;  heedless  that  her  cloud-like  dress  trailed  over  grass 
and  ferns,  gathering  up  dew  like  rain;  heedless  of  every 
thing  but  that  one  fearful  thought — some  one  was  killed! 
Was  it  Walton  Hurst? 

Lady  Rose  was  in  the  woods,  rushing  forward  blindly, 
but  jealous  distrust  had  taught  her  the  way  to  the  cot 
tage,  and  she  went  in  that  direction  straight  as  an  arrow 
from  the  bow,  and  wild  as  the  bird  it  strikes.  Coming 
out  from  the  shadow  of  some  great  spreading  cedar  trees, 
she  saw  lying  there  in  the  path  a  man — a  white,  still 
face — his  face. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  shriek  which  tore  her  heart 
rang  fearfully  through  the  woods,  but  it  had  died  on  her 
lips,  and  gave  forth  no  sound,  only  freezing  them  to  ice  as 
she  crept  toward  the  prostrate  man,  and  laid  her  face  to  his. 

"Oh,  Walton!  Oh,  my  beloved,  speak  to  me!  Only 
breathe  once,  that  I  may  hear.  Move  only  a  little. 
Stir  your  hand.  Don't — don't  let  the  moonlight  look 
into  your  eyes  so !  Walton,  Walton ! " 


THE     TWO     THAT     LOVED     HIM.  143 

She  laid  her  cold,  white  hand  over  the  wide-open  eyes 
of  the  man  as  he  lay  there,  so  stiff  and  ghastly,  in  the 
moonlight.  She  turned  his  head  aside,  and  hid  those 
eyes  in  her  bosom,  in  which  the  ice  seemed  to  melt  and 
cast  off  tears.  She  looked  around  for  help,  yet  was  afraid 
that  some  one  might  come  and  rob  her.  She  had  found 
him  ;  he  was  there  in  her  arms.  If  one  life  could  save 
another,  she  would  save  him.  Was  she  not  armed  with 
the  mightiest  of  all  earthly  power — great  human  love? 

Wild,  half- frightened  by  the  impulse  that  was  upon 
her,  the  girl  looked  to  the  right  and  left  as  if  she  feared 
the  very  moonlight  would  scoff  at  her.  Then,  with 
timid  hesitation,  her  lips  sought  the  white  mouth  of  the 
prostrate  man,  but  her  breath  was  checked  with  a  shrink 
ing  sob.  The  cold  touch  terrified  her. 

Was  he  dead  ? 

No,  no  !  She  would  not  believe  that.  There  was  no 
sign  of  violence  upon  his  face ;  a  still  whiteness,  like 
death,  a  fixed  look  in  the  open  eyes ;  but  the  moisture 
that  lay  around  him  was  only  dew.  She  bathed  her 
hand  in  it  and  held  the  trembling  fingers  up  to  the  light, 
to  make  sure  of  that ;  and  with  the  conviction  came  a 
great  sob  of  relief,  which  broke  into  a  wild,  glad  cry,  for 
a  flicker  of  shade  seemed  to  tremble  over  that  face,  and 
the  eyes  slowly  closed. 

"Oh,  my  God  be  thanked!  he  is  alive!  My  dar 
ling  !  Oh,  my  darling  !  " 

"  Hush  ! "  cried  another  voice,  at  her  side. 

A  shadow  had  fallen  athwart  the  kneeling  girl,  and 
another  face,  more  wildly  pale,  more  keenly  disturbed 
with  anguish,  looked  down  upon  the  prostrate  man,  and 
the  young  creature  who  crouched  and  trembled  by  his 
side. 


144  KORSTON 

"  Look  up,  woman,  and  let  me  see  your  face,"  said 
Ruth  Jessup,  in  a  voice  that  scarcely  rose  above  a  whis 
per,  though  it  was  strong  in  command. 

Lady  Rose  drew  herself  up,  and  lifted  her  piteous  face 
as  if  appealing  for  compassion. 

"  You  !  "  exclaimed  Ruth. 

"  Yes,  Ruth  Jessup,  it  is  I,  Lady  Rose.  We  will  not 
be  angry  with  each  other,  now  that  he  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !  "  repeated  Ruth,  "  and  you  the  first  by  his 
side  ?  Dead  ?  Oh,  my  God  !  my  God !  Has  our  sin 
blasted  us  both  ?  " 

Down  upon  the  earth  this  poor  girl  sunk,  wringing 
her  hands  in  an  agony  of  distress.  Still  Lady  Rose 
looked  at  her  with  touching  appeal.  She  had  not  com 
prehended  the  full  force  of  Ruth's  speech,  though  the 
words  rested  in  her  brain  long  after. 

"  Lay  your  hand  on  his  heart,"  she  said.  "  I — I  dare 
not." 

Ruth  smiled  a  wan  smile,  colder  than  tears;  still  there 
was  a  faint  gleam  of  triumph  in  it. 

"  No !  "  she  said.     "  You  should  not  dare." 

Then  the  girl  thrust  her  trembling  hand  down  to  the 
bosom  her  head  had  so  lately  rested  upon,  and  leaning 
forward,  held  her  breath,  while  Lady  Rose  eagerly 
searched  her  features  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Is — is  there  nothing  ?  "  she  whispered. 

Ruth  could  not  answer.  Her  hand  shook  so  fearfully, 
that  its  sense  of  touch  was  overwhelmed. 

"  Oh,  speak  to  me  !  " 

"  Hush !     I  shake  so  !     I  shake  so !  " 

Lady  Rose  bent  her  head  and  waited.  At  last  a  deep, 
long  breath  broke  from  Ruth,  and  a  flash  of  fire  shot 
from  her  eyes. 


THE     TWO     THAT     LOVED     HIM.  145 

"  Give  me  your  hand ;  I  dare  not  trust  myself/7  she 
whispered. 

Seizing  the  hand  which  lay  helplessly  in  Lady  Rose's 
lap,  she  pressed  it  over  the  heart  her  own  had  been 
searching,  and  fixed  her  eager  eyes  on  the  lady's  face  for 
an  answer. 

As  a  faint  fire  kindles  slowly,  that  fair  face  brightened 
till  it  shone  like  a  lily  in  the  moonlight.  As  Ruth 
looked,  she  saw  a  scarcely  perceptible  smile  stealing 
over  it.  Then  the  lips  parted,  and  a  heavy  sigh  broke 
through. 

"Is  it  life  ? "  whispered  Ruth.     « Tell  me,  is  it  life?" 

Lady  Rose  withdrew  her  hand. 

"Yes,  faint.     Oh!  so  faint,  but  life." 

Then  both  these  girls  broke  into  a  swift  passion  of 
tears,  and  clung  together,  uttering  soft,  broken  words 
of  thanksgiving.  Ruth  was  the  first  to  start  from  this 
sweet  trance  of  gratitude. 

"What  can  we  do?  He  must  be  carried  to  the  house. 
Ho,  father!  father!" 

She  ran  up  and  down  the  path,  crying  out  wildly,  but 
no  answer  came.  The  stillness  struck  her  with  new 
dread.  Where  was  her  father,  that  he  could  not  hear 
her  cries?  Who  had  done  this  thing!  Could  it  be 
he? 

"  No,  no  ! — a  thousand  times,  no  !     But  then — " 

She  went  back  to  Lady  Rose,  whose  hand  had  nestled 
back  to  that  poor,  struggling  heart. 

"  Couldn't  we  carry  him,  you  and  I  ?  Wre  must  have 
help,"  Ruth  said,  a  little  sharply,  for  the  position  of 
the  lady  stung  her. 

The  question  surprised  Lady  Rose ;  for  never  in  her 
life  had  she  been  called  upon  to  make  an  exertion.  But 
9 


146 

she  started  to  her  feet  and  flung  back  the  draperies  from 
her  arms. 

"  Yes,  he  might  die  here.  Let  us  save  him.  '  The 
Rest '  is  not  so  far  off." 

" '  The  Rest  ? '  No,  no ;  our  cottage  is  nearest.  He 
might  die  before  we  could  get  him  to  i  The  Rest.'  My 
father  will  be  there.  Oh,  I  am  sure  my  father  will  be 
there ! " 

Ruth  spoke  eagerly,  as  if  some  one  had  disputed  her. 

"  He  will  be  coming  this  way/7  she  added,  "  and  so 
help  us.  Come,  come,  let  us  try  !  " 

Before  the  two  girls  could  test  their  strength,  footsteps 
were  heard  coming  along  the  path. 

"  It  is  my  father.  Oh,  now  he  can  be  carried  to  the 
cottage  in  safety." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

BOTH     HUSBAND     AND     FATHER. 

THE  two  girls  stood  up  and  listened.  The  footsteps 
came  forward  swiftly,  and  with  a  light  touch  of 
the  ground;  too  light,  Ruth  felt,  with  a  sinking  heart, 
for  the  heavy  tread  of  her  father.  She  had  not  the 
courage  to  cry  out  now.  It  seemed  as  if  some  one  were 
coming  to  take  that  precious  charge  from  her  forever. 
This  fear  broke  into  a  faint  exclamation  when  she  saw 
Sir  Noel  Hurst  coming  toward  them  more  swiftly  than 
she  had  ever  seen  him  walk  before.  Without  uttering  a 
word,  he  came  up  to  where  the  young  man  was  lying, 
and  bent  over  him  in  dead  silence,  as  if  unconscious  that 
any  other  human  being  was  near. 


BOTH     HUSBAND     AND     FATHER.         147 

"  He  is  not  dead !  Oh,  Sir  Noel,  his  heart  beats. 
Don't — don't  look  so  !  He  is  not  dead  !  " 

"  Lady  Rose,"  said  the  baronet,  "  you  heard — " 

The  lady  shrunk  back,  and  faltered  out — 

"  Yes ;  I  heard  a  shot,  and  it  frightened  me." 

The  baronet  made  no  answer,  but  bent  over  his  son. 
The  faint  signs  of  life  that  Lady  Hose  had  discovered 
were  imperceptible  to  him.  But  habitual  self-command 
kept  his  anguish  down,  and  in  a  low,  grave  voice,  he 
bade  Ruth,  whose  presence  he  had  not  otherwise  noticed, 
run  to  the  mansion,  and  call  help  at  once. 

Ruth  obeyed.  Her  nearest  path  led  under  the  great 
cedar  trees,  where  the  blackest  shadows  fell,  and  she 
darted  that  way  with  a  swift  step  that  soon  carried  her 
into  the  darkness.  But  all  at  once  came  a  cry  out  from 
the  gloom,  so  sharp,  so  full  of  agony,  that  Sir  Noel 
started  up,  and  turned  to  learn  the  cause. 

It  came  in  an  instant,  out  from  the  blackness  of  the 
cedars;  for  there  Ruth  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the 
moonlight,  pallid,  dumb,  shivering,  with  her  face  half 
averted,  waving  her  hand  back  to  the  shadow. 

"  What  is  it?    What  has  frightened  you  so  ?"  he  said. 

"  Look  !  look  !  I  cannot  see  his  face ;  but  I  know — I 
know  !"  she  gasped,  retreating  into  the  darkness. 

Sir  Noel  followed  her,  and  there,  lying  as  it  seemed  on 
a  pall  flung  downward  by  the  huge  trees,  lay  the  body  of 
a  man  perfectly  motionless. 

"  My  father !  Oh,  my  poor  father  ! "  cried  the  girl, 
falling  down  among  the  shadows,  as  if  she  sought  to 
engulf  herself  in  mourning. 

"  Be  quiet,  child.  It  may  not  be  your  father,"  said 
the  baronet,  still  controlling  himself  into  comparative 
calmness. 


148  XORSTON'S    REST. 

Kuth  arose  in  the  darkness,  and  crept  toward  the  body. 
Her  hand  touched  the  hard,  open  palm  that  lay  upon  the 
moss  where  it  had  fallen.  She  knew  the  touch,  and  clung 
to  it,  sobbing  piteously. 

"  Let  me  go  and  call  help/'  said  Lady  Rose,  coming 
toward  the  cedars. 

"  No,"  answered  Sir  Noel.  "  That  must  not  be.  This 
is  no  place  for  Lady  Rose  Hubert.  The  poor  girl 
yonder  has  lost  all  her  strength;  it  is  her  father,  I 
greatly  fear.  Stay  by  him  until  you  see  lights,  or  know 
that  help  is  coming.  Then  retire  to  the  gardener's  cot 
tage.  We  must  have  no  careless  tongues  busy  with  your 
name,  Lady  Rose.7' 

Sir  Noel  strove  to  speak  with  calmness ;  but  a  shiver 
ran  through  his  voice.  He  broke  off  abruptly,  and, 
turning  down  the  nearest  path,  walked  toward  "The 
Rest." 

Meantime,  there  was  bitter  sorrow  under  the  great 
cedar  trees;  low,  pitiful  moaning,  and  the  murmurs  of  a 
young  creature,  smitten  to  the  heart  with  a  consciousness 
that  the  awful  scene,  with  its  train  of  consequences,  had 
been  her  own  work.  She  crept  close  to  the  man,  afraid 
to  touch  him  with  her  guilty  fingers,  but,  urged  on  by  a 
faint  hope  that  he  was  not  quite  dead,  she  felt,  with 
horror,  that  there  was  something  heavier  than  dew  on 
the  bed  of  moss  where  he  lay,  and  that  for  every  drop  of 
her  father's  blood  she  was  responsible.  Still  she  crept 
close  to  him,  and  at  last  laid  both  hands  upon  his 
shoulder.  There  was  a  vague  motion  tinder  her  hands, 
as  if  a  wince  of  pain  made  the  flesh  quiver. 

"  Oh,  if  some  one  would  help  me.  What  can  I  do ! 
What  can  I  do!"  she  moaned,  striving  to  pierce  the 
darkness  with  her  eyes.  "  Oh,  father  !  father ! " 


BOTH     HUSBAND     A  X  D     FATHER.        149 

"Ruth!" 

The  sound  of  that  name  was  not  louder  than  a  breath 
of  summer  wind;  but  the  girl  heard  it,  and  fell  upon  her 
face,  prostrated  by  a  great  flood  of  thankfulness.  She 
had  not  killed  him ;  he  was  alive.  He  had  spoken  her 
name. 

Directly  the  sound  of  voices  swept  that  way,  and  the 
great  cedar  trees  were  reddened  with  a  glare  of  torches, 
and  a  streaming  light  from  lanterns.  Then  Lady  Rose, 
who  had  been  sitting  upon  the  ground  with  Walton 
Hurst's  head  resting  on  her  lap,  bent  down  softly,  kissed 
the  white  forehead,  and  stole  away  from  all  traces  of 
light.  Sir  Noel  had  been  thoughtful  for  her.  She 
could  not  have  borne  that  the  eyes  of  those  menial  help 
ers,  or  their  masters  either,  should  see  her  ministering  to 
a  man  who,  perhaps,  would  hold  her  care,  as  he  might 
her  love,  in  careless  indifference. 

Yes,  Sir  Noel  was  right.  She  must  not  be  found 
there. 

Down  through  the  trees  she  went,  looking  wistfully 
back  at  the  figure  left  alone  in  the  moonlight,  tempted 
to  return  and  brave  everything,  rather  than  leave  him 
alone.  But  the  torches  came  up  fast  and  redly,  hushed 
voices  broke  the  stillness  that  had  seemed  so  deathlike, 
and,  envying  that  other  girl,  who  was  permitted  to 
remain,  the  lady  stole  toward  the  cottage,  and  sinking 
down  upon  the  porch,  listened  to  the  far-off  tumult  with 
a  dull  pain  of  the  heart  which  death  itself  could  hardly 
have  intensified. 

It  was  well  that  Lady  Rose  had  fled  from  the  path, 
along  which  some  thirty  men  were  coming — gentlemen 
in  evening  dress,  gamekeepers  and  grooms,  all  moving 
under  the  torch-light,  like  a  funeral  procession. 


150  NORSTO^'S     REST. 

With  the  tenderness  of  women,  and  the  strength  of 
men,  they  lifted  Walton  Hurst  from  the  ground,  and 
bore  him  toward  the  house.  Ruth  rose  up  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  cedars,  and  saw  him  drifting  away  from  her, 
with  the  red  light  of  the  torches  streaming  over  the  white 
ness  of  his  face,  and  then  fell  down  by  her  father,  moan 
ing  piteously. 

By-and-by  the  torch-lights  flashed  and  flamed  under 
the  cedars,  lighting  up  their  great,  drooping  branches, 
like  a  tent  under  which  a  wounded  or  perchance  dead 
man  was  lying  prone  upon  his  back,  with  his  strong  arms 
flung  out,  and  a  slow  ripple  of  blood  flowing  from  his 
chest. 

The  torch-bearers  took  little  heed  of  the  poor  girl,  who 
had  crept  so  close  to  her  father  that  her  garments  were 
red  with  his  blood,  but  lifted  the  body  up  with  less 
reverential  care  than  had  marked  the  removal  of  the 
young  master,  but  still  not  unkindly,  and  bore  it  away 
toward  the  house.  Ruth  arose,  worn  out  with  anguish, 
and  followed  in  silence,  wondering  that  she  was  alive  to 
bear  all  this  sorrow. 

It  seemed  to  Lady  Rose  that  hours  and  hours  had 
passed  since  she  had  sheltered  her  misery  in  that  low 
porch,  and  this  was  true,  if  time  can  be  measured  by  feel 
ing.  It  was  even  a  relief  when  she  saw  that  little  group 
of  menials  bearing  the  form  of  the  gardener  along  the 
forest-path,  which  was  slowly  reddened  by  lanterns  and 
half-extinguished  torches.  In  the  midst  of  this  weird 
scene  came  Ruth  Jessup,  holding  fast  to  her  father's  hand, 
with  her  pallid  face  bowed  down,  creeping,  as  it  were, 
along  the  way,  as  if  all  life  had  been  smitten  from  her. 

A  sort  of  painful  pity  seized  upon  Lady  Rose,  as  she 
saw  this  procession  bearing  down  upon  the  cottage.  She 


w 


AS     IT     LIFE     OR     DEATH?  151 


could  not  look  upon  that  poor  girl  without  a  sensation  of 
shrinking  dislike.  Had  not  Hurst  been  on  his  way  to 
her  when  he  met  with  this  evil  fate?  Had  he  not  almost 
fled  from  her  own  presence  to  visit  this  beautiful  rustic, 
whose  desolation  seemed  so  complete  ?  Yes,  she  pitied 
the  poor  young  thing  ;  what  woman  could  help  it?  But, 
underlying  the  pity,  was  a  feeling  of  subdued  triumph, 
that  only  one  wounded  man  was  coming  that  way. 

All  at  once  the  girl  started  from  her  seat. 

"  They  must  not  find  me,"  she  thought.  "  Sir  Noel 
did  not  think  of  this  when  he  bade  me  seek  shelter  here. 
I  will  go  !  I  will  go  !  " 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

WAS     IT     LIFE     OR     DEATH? 

TUST  as  the  lights  crept  up  to  the  front  paling,  and 
*-J  began  to  cast  a  glow  on  the  flowers  inside,  Lady 
Rose  stole  out  from  the  porch,  threaded  a  lilac  thicket, 
which  lay  near  a  back  gate,  and  let  herself  into  a  portion 
of  the  park  which  was  strange  to  her.  For  a  while  she 
stood  bewildered,  not  knowing  the  direction  she  ought  to 
take.  Then  a  flash  of  distant  lights,  shooting  through 
the  trees,  revealed  the  position  in  which  "The  Rest"  lay 
from  the  cottage;  and  taking  the  very  patli  Ruth  had 
sought  in  the  morning,  she  hurried  along  it,  so  sheltered 
by  the  overhanging  trees,  that  she  might  have  passed 
unobserved,  but  for  the  flutter  of  her  garments,  and  the 
glint  of  her  jewels,  as  the  moonbeam  struck  them  now 
and  then,  in  her  progress. 


152 

"  Docs  lie  breathe  yet?  Will  the  motion  put  out  that 
one  spark  of  life,  before  he  reaches  home  ?  Shall  I  never 
see  him  again?" 

The  thought  gave  a  wild,  abnormal  strength  to  the  girl. 
She  no  longer  felt  fatigue.  The  faint  dread  at  her  heart 
was  swept  away  with  a  more  powerful  force  of  suffering. 
She  must  know  for  herself. 

Swiftly  as  these  thoughts  swept  through  her  brain,  they 
scarcely  matched  the  speed  of  her  movements.  Gather 
ing  up  the  long  skirts  that  encumbered  her  feet,  she  fairly 
flew  along  the  path,  panting  with  impatience  rather  than 
fear,  as  each  step  brought  her  closer  to  those  lighted  win 
dows.  All  at  once  she  sprang  aside  with  a  sharp  cry,  and 
turned,  like  an  animal  at  bay,  for,  in  a  dark  hollow,  into 
which  the  path  dipped,  the  figure  of  a  man  stopped  her. 

The  shriek  that  broke  from  Lady  Rose  seemed  to 
exasperate  the  black  shadow,  which  had  a  man's  form, 
that  moved  heavily.  This  was  all  the  frightened  girl 
could  see ;  but,  in  an  instant,  a  low,  hoarse  voice  broke 
from  it,  and  her  hand  was  seized  with  a  fierce  grasp. 

"  So  you  have  found  it  out.  So  much  the  better. 
Both  down,  and  one  answerable  for  the  other.  Famous 
end  to  a  day's  sweethearting,  isn't  it?" 

"What  is  this?  What  do  you  mean?  Take  your 
hand  from  my  wrist,"  cried  the  lady,  in  sharp  alarm. 

"  Not  so  easy,  my  lady,  that  would  be.  Some  things 
are  sweeter  than  revenge,  though  that  tastes  rarely,  when 
one  gets  a  full  cup.  I  thought  you  would  be  coming  this 
way,  and  waited  to  meet  you." 

"Meet  me?     For  what?"  faltered  the  lady,  shivering. 

"Oh,  no  wonder  your  voice  shakes,  till  one  hardly 
knows  it  again,"  answered  the  man.  "  If  anything  can 
drive  the  heart  back  from  your  throat,  it  might  be  the 


WAS     IT     LIFE     OR     DEATH?  153 

grip  of  my  hand  on  your  arm.  You  never  felt  it  so 
heavy  before,  did  you,  now?  Can  you  guess  what  it 
means  ?  " 

"  It  means  that  you  are  a  ruffian — a  robber,  perhaps, 
no  matter  which.  Only  let  me  go ! " 

"A  ruffian !  Oh,  yes ;  I  think  you  said  that  once 
before ;  but  I  warn  you.  Such  words  cut  deep,  and  work 
themselves  out  in  an  ugly  way.  Don't  attempt  to  use 
them  again,  especially  here.  It  isn't  a  safe  spot;  and 
just  now  I  ain't  a  safe  man  to  sneer  at." 

"  Why  do  you  threaten  me  ?  What  have  I  done  to 
earn  your  ill-will?"  faltered  the  lady,  shuddering;  for 
the  man  had  drawn  so  close  to  her  as  he  spoke,  that  his 
breath  swept  with  sickening  volume  across  her  face,  and 
his  hand  clinched  her  wrist  like  a  vice. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  Ha  !  ha !  How  innocent 
she  is !  How  daintily  she  speaks  to  the  ruffian — the 
robber!" 

"  I  was  rash  to  call  you  so ;  but — but  you  frightened 
me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  always  frightening  you.  A  kiss  from 
me  is  worse  than  a  bullet  from  some  one  we  know  of." 

"  Hush,  sir !     I  cannot  bear  this ! " 

"  Don't  I  know  that  you  could  bear  me  well  enough, 
till  he  came  along  with  his  «ilky  beard  and  soft  speech  ? 
Then  I  became  a  ruffian — a  robber.  Well,  now,  what 
you  wouldn't  give  at  any  price,  I  mean  to  take." 

"  There  is  no  need.  I  give  them  to  you  freely.  Un 
clasp  the  bracelet.  It  is  heavy  with  jewels.  Then  free 
my  hand,  and  I  will  take  the  locket  from  my  neck. 
Trust  me ;  I  will  keep  nothing  back." 

"  Bracelets,  lockets,  jewels !  What  are  you  thinking 
of?  Dash  me,  but  I  think  you  have  gone  crazy.  Undo 


154 

your  bracelet,  indeed.  When  did  you  come  by  one,  I 
should  like  to  know?" 

"  It  is  on  my  wrist.  Oh,  if  a  ray  of  moonlight  could 
only  strike  down  here." 

" On  your  wrist ?  What,  this  heavy  shackle?  Stay, 
stay  !  How  soft  your  hand  is.  Your  dress  rustles  like 
silk.  Your  voice  has  changed.  Woman,  who  are  you?" 

"  Take  the  jewels.  Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  unlock  them, 
and  let  me  go." 

The  hand  that  held  that  delicate  wrist  so  firmly 
dropped  it,  the  dark  body  swerved  aside,  and  Richard 
Storms  plunged  down  the  path.  Swift  as  a  lapwing 
Lady  Rose  sped  up  the  hill  through  the  shrubberies, 
nearest  "  The  Rest,"  and  at  last  stood  panting  within  the 
shadows  of  the  terrace,  where  a  solitary  man  was  walking 
up  and  down  with  mournful  slowness. 

"  It  is  Sir  Noel,"  she  said,  as  the  moonlight  fell  on  his 
white  face.  "  God  help  us !  It  looks  as  if  he  had  been 
with  death ! " 

Gliding  noiselessly  up  the  steps,  Lady  Rose  met  the 
baronet  as  he  turned  in  his  walk. 

"Tell  me!  oh,  tell  me !"  she  faltered,  coming  close  to 
him,  and  breaking  off  in  her  speech. 

"  He  is  alive,  my  child." 

"Ah!" 

"  The  doctors  are  with  him  now." 

"  So  soon — so  soon  ! "  exclaimed  the  lady,  seizing  upon 
a  desperate  hope  from  the  doctor's  presence. 

"  I  came  out  here  for  breath.  It  was  so  close  in  the 
rooms,"  said  the  baronet,  gently. 

Lady  Rose  glanced  at  the  house.  It  was  still  bril 
liantly  lighted.  The  windows  were  all  open,  and  a  soft 
breeze  was  playing  with  the  frost-like  curtains,  just  as  it 


WAS     IT     LIFE     OK     DEATH?  155 

had  when  she  heard  that  shot,  and  fled  down  the  terrace. 
The  music  was  hushed,  and  the  rooms  were  almost 
empty;  that  was  all  the  change  that  appeared  to  her. 
Yet  it  seemed  as  if  years  had  passed  since  she  stood  on 
that  terrace. 

"  But  we  shall  hear  soon.     Oh,  tell  me !" 

"  Yes,  my  child.     They  know  that  I  am  waiting." 

The  baronet  strove  to  speak  calmly,  for  the  suppression 
of  strong  feeling  had  been  the  education  of  his  life ;  but 
his  voice  shook,  and  he  turned  his  head  aside,  to  avoid 
the  piteous  glance  of  those  great,  blue  eyes  that  were  so 
full  of  tears. 

"  Go — go  up  to  your  room,  Lady  Rose,"  said  the 
baronet,  after  a  moment's  severe  struggle  with  himself. 
"  In  my  selfish  grief  I  had  forgotten  everything.  Was 
Jessup  alive  when  he  reached  the  cottage?" 

"  I — I  think  so ;  but  there  came  so  many  with  him 
that  I  escaped  through  the  shrubberies." 

"And  came  here  alone.  That  was  brave;  that  was 
wise.  At  least,  we  must  save  you  from  the  horrors  of 
to-night,  let  the  result  be  what  it  may." 

Lady  Rose  uttered  a  faint  moan,  and  the  tears  grew 
hot  under  her  drooping  eyelids. 

"  If  it  goes  ill  with  him,  I  do  not  wish  to  be  spared. 
Pain  will  seem  natural  to  me  then,"  she  said,  shivering. 

The  baronet  took  her  hand  in  his  own ;  both  were  cold 
as  ice ;  so  were  the  lips  that  touched  her  fingers. 

"  You  will  let  me  stay  until  we  hear  something  ?  "  she 
pleaded. 

Just  then  she  stood  within  the  light  which  fell  from 
one  of  the  tall  windows,  and  all  the  disarray  of  her  dress 
was  clearly  betrayed:  the  trailing  azure  of  her  train  soiled 
with  earth  and  wet  with  dew ;  the  gossamer  lace  torn  in 


156  N  OUST  OX'S     REST. 

shreds,  the  ringlets  of  her  thick,  rich  hair  falling  in  damp 
masses  around  her.  Surely  that  was  no  figure  to  pre 
sent  before  his  critical  guests.  They  must  not  know  how 
this  fair  girl  suffered.  There  should  be  no  wounds  to 
her  maidenly  pride  that  he  could  spare  her. 

These  thoughts  drew  the  baronet  partially  from  him 
self.  It  was  a  relief  to  have  something  to  care  for.  At 
this  moment,  when  all  his  nerves  were  quivering  with 
dread,  the  sweet,  sad  sympathy  of  this  fair  girl  was  a 
support  to  him.  He  did  not  wish  to  part  with  her  now, 
that  she  so  completely  shared  the  misery  of  his  suspense. 

"You  are  shivering  ;  you  are  cold  !"  he  said. 

"  No,  no ;  it  is  not  that." 

"I  know— I  know!" 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  went  into  the  great,  open 
hall,  where  bronze  statues  in  armor,  life-sized,  held  lights 
on  the  points  of  their  spears,  as  if  on  guard.  Some  lady 
had  flung  her  shawl  across  the  arm  of  one  of  these  noble 
ornaments,  where  it  fell  in  waves  of  rich  coloring  to  the 
marble  floor.  Sir  Noel  seized  upon  this  and  wrapped 
the  Lady  Rose  in  its  loose  folds  from  head  to  foot.  Then 
he  drew  her  to  a  side  of  the  terrace,  where  the  two  stood, 
minute  after  minute,  waiting  in  silence.  Once  the  baro 
net  spoke. 

"The  windows  of  his  room  are  just  above  us,"  he  said. 
"I  thought  perhaps  we  might  hear  something." 

"Ah  me !  How  still  they  are  ! "  sighed  the  girl,  look 
ing  upward. 

"  We  could  not  hear.  No,  no,  we  could  not  hear. 
The  sashes  are  all  closed,"  answered  the  baronet,  sharply, 
for  he  felt  the  fear  her  words  implied. 

Rose  drew  close  to  her  companion. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that.     I  only  thought — " 


BETWEEN     LIFE     AND     DEATH.  157 

"  They  are  coming." 

The  baronet  spoke  in  a  whisper,  but  did  not  move. 
He  shrunk  now  from  hearing  the  news -so  impatiently 
waited  for  a  moment  before. 

A  servant  came  through  the  hall,  and  rushed  toward 
his  master. 

"Sir  Noel,  they  are  waiting  for  you  in  the  small 
drawing-room." 

The  baronet  hesitated.  His  lips  were  striving  to 
frame  a  question  which  the  man  read  in  the  wild  eyes 
fixed  on  his. 

"  He  is  alive,  Sir  Noel.     I  know  that." 

The  father  drew  a  deep,  deep  breath.  The  claw  of 
some  fierce  bird  of  prey  seemed  loosened  from  his  heart  ; 
a  flood  of  gentle  pity  for  the  fair  girl,  who  dared  not 
even  look  her  anxiety,  detained  him  another  moment. 

"Go  into  the  library.  I  will  bring  you  news,"  he 
said. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

BETWEEN     LIFE     AND     DEATH. 

IADY  HOSE  watched  the  master  and  servant  as 
•1  they  went  into  the  hall ;  then,  gliding  through 
one  of  the  open  windows,  stole  into  the  library,  where 
she  walked  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  until  it  seemed 
as  if  she  had  travelled  leagues  on  leagues,  but  could  not 
stop. 

The  baronet  came  at  last,  looking  calmer  and  more 
self-possessed,  but  still  very  pale. 


158  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Lady  Rose  came  np  to  him,  looking  the  question  she 
could  not  ask. 

"  It  is  not  death  as  yet/7  he  said. 

"But,  tell  me — oh  !  tell  me,  is  there  danger?" 

"  Great  danger,  the  doctors  think ;  all  the  more  be 
cause  they  can  find  no  wound." 

"  No  wound !     But  that  shot !  that  shot ! " 

The  baronet  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  all  a  mystery  as  yet." 

"But  if  he  is  not  wounded?" 

"There  has  been  a  fall — a  blow;  something  which 
threatens  congestion  of  the  brain." 

"  But  if  the  other,  Jessup,  is  shot.  I  heard  the  report 
from  the  terrace." 

"And  I  from  the  woods.  But  let  us  say  nothing  of 
this — think  nothing,  if  we  can  help  it,"  said  the  baronet. 

"  If  we  can  help  it !     Ah  !  me." 

"The  surgeons  have  gone  over  to  Jessup's  cottage. 
He  may  be  able  to  speak.  I  will  go  with  them." 

Lady  Rose  looked  np  eagerly. 

"And  he?" 

"  Must  be  kept  perfectly  quiet.     My  man  is  with  him." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?    Is  it  certain  that  he  breathes  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  him  only  for  a  moment.  He  was  breath 
ing,  but  very  feebly,"  answered  the  baronet. 

"  Ah !  that  poor  white  face !  I  shall  never  forget  it," 
answered  Rose,  covering  her  eyes  with  both  hands.  "  His 
eyes  so  wide  open  !  Oh,  how  they  frightened  me  ! " 

"  They  are  closed  now,  and  he  lies  there  quiet  as  a 
child.  There  is  some  burden  upon  the  brain." 

"But  the  doctors,  how  can  they  leave  him?  He 
might  die." 

"It  is  only  long  enough  to  visit  Jessup.  He  is 
wounded  badly,  the  people  say  who  took  him  home." 


BETWEEN     LIFE     AND     DEATH. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  heard  them  speaking  of  blood  on 
the  grass  as  they  came  up.  Of — of  coarse,  the  doctors 
must  go  to  him — and  you ;  it  is  but  right." 

A  strange  resolve  had  suddenly  flashed  into  her 
thoughts. 

"  You  will  go  to  your  room  now,  Lady  Rose.  It  is 
long  after  midnight,"  said  the  baronet,  as  he  opened  a 
door  leading  to  the  hall. 

"  ISTo,  Sir  Noel ;  I  could  not  sleep ;  I  could  not  breathe 
under  all  this  uncertainty.  You  will  find  me  here,  with 
your  news,  good  or  bad.  It  would  be  like  shutting  my 
self  in  a  prison  cell  if  I  went  to  my  room  now." 

"As  you  wish.  I  will  not  be  gone  long,"  answered 
the  baronet. 

Lady  Rose  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  library,  listen 
ing,  until  Sir  Noel's  footsteps  died  out  on  the  terrace ; 
then  she  stole  into  the  hall  and  mounted  the  stairs,  hold 
ing  her  breath  as  she  went. 

In  her  dressing-room  she  found  a  woman  leaning  back 
in  an  easy-chair,  who  had  fallen  into  a  restless  sleep. 

"  Hippie,  Hippie  !"  said  Lady  Rose,  under  her  breath. 
"  Do  wake  up." 

The  thin  little  shadow  of  a  woman  opened  two  black 
eyes,  and  thrust  up  her  shoulders  with  a  sleepy  protest. 

"Mrs.  Hippie,  Hippie!  always  Mrs.  Hippie,  sleeping 
or  waking.  Well,  what  is  it  now,  my  lady  ?" 

"  Get  up,  that  is  a  good  soul.  I  know  that  you  have 
been  kept  out  of  your  bed,  cruelly,  but  I  want  you  so 
much." 

"Well,  well,  lady-bird,  what  is  it  all  about?  Of 
course,  you  want  me.  That  is  what  you  always  were 
doing  as  a  child.  Oh,  well,  one  is  something  older  now, 
and  that  makes  a  difference." 


160  NORS  TON'S    REST. 

While  the  sleepy  woman  was  uttering  this  half-protest, 
Lady  Rose  was  arranging  the  cap,  that  had  been  crushed 
on  one  side  as  she  slept,  and  gently  shaking  off  the  sleep 
which  threatened  to  renew  itself  in  soft  grumbles. 

"  There,  now,  everything  is  set  to  rights,  and  you  look 
wide  awake." 

"  Of  course,  I  am  wide  awake ;  I,  who  never  sleep, 
though  you  dance  away  the  hours  till  morning,"  an 
swered  the  little  lady,  testily. 

"  But  I  have  not  been  dancing  to-night,  Hippie ;  far 
from  it.  Something  dreadful  has  happened." 

"  Dreadful !  Lady  Rose,  do  speak  out.  My  heart  is 
rising  into  my  mouth." 

"  Mr.  Walton  Hurst  has  been  hurt." 

"  Hurt !  My  poor,  dear  child.  Oh,  now  I  know  why 
you  came  to  me  gasping  for  breath." 

"  He  is  very  ill — quite  insensible,  in  his  room  over 
yonder,  with  no  one  to  take  care  of  him  but  Sir  Noel's 
man." 

"Who  knows  nothing." 

"  Who  might  let  him  die,  you  know,  while  the  doc 
tors  are  away.  I  am  so  troubled  about  it." 

"  Well,  what  shall  I  do?  Of  course  Webb  isn't  to  be 
trusted." 

"  Just  step  in  and  offer  to  take  his  place,  while  he  goes 
down  to  the  gardener's  cottage  and  inquires  about  Jessup, 
who  is  hurt  also." 

"Jessup  hurt!  What  right  had  he  to  take  the  same 
night  of  the  young  gentleman's  misfortune,  for  his  poor 
tixmble,  I  should  like  to  know,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady, 
resentfully.  "It  is  taking  a  great  liberty,  I  can  tell 
him." 

"  Still,  he  is  hurt,  and  I  want  to  hear  about  it,  if  you 
can  only  get  Webb  to  go." 


BETWEEN     LIFE      AND     DEATH.  161 

"Can!     He  shall  I" 

"  He  will  trust  Mr.  Hurst  with  you  !  " 

"  Of  course.     Who  doubts  that  ?  " 

"And  then—" 

Lady  Rose  faltered,  and  a  faint  streak  of  carmine  shot 
across  her  forehead. 

"Well,  what  then,  lady-bird?  something  chokes  in 
your  throat.  What  am  I  to  do  then  ?  " 

"Perhaps,  you  would  let  me  come  in,  just  for  a 
moment." 

"  Oh-h  !  But  don't — don't.  I  cannot  see  your  pretty 
lip  quivering  so!  There — there.  I  understand  it  all 
now!" 

"And  you  will?" 

"When  did  Hippie  ever  say  no?  Is  she  likely  to 
begin  now,  when  rain  is  getting  under  those  eyelids? 
Sit  down  a  minute,  and  take  comfort.  Things  must  be 
amiss  indeed  if  the  old  woman  can't  set  them  right." 

Gently  forcing  her  young  mistress  into  the  easy-chair, 
the  faithful  old  companion  left  the  room,  swift  as  a  bird, 
and  noiseless  as  a  mouse.  Directly  she  came  back,  and 
beckoned  with  her  finger  through  the  open  door. 

"  He  has  gone.  I  frightened  him  about  his  master. 
Come!" 

Lady  Rose  was  at  the  door  in  an  instant.  The  next 
she  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  large  chamber,  in  the  centre 
of  which  was  a  huge  high-posted  bedstead  of  carved 
ebony,  shrouded  by  a  torrent  of  lace  and  damask,  on 
which  the  shaded  light  fell  like  the  glow  of  rubies. 
Shrinking  behind  these  curtains,  which  were  drawn  back 
at  the  head  in  gorgeous  masses,  Lady  Rose  looked 
timidly  upon  the  form  that  lay  prostrate  there,  afraid  of 
the  death  signs  which  might  be  written  upon  it. 
10 


162 

Walton  Hurst  was  deadly  pale  yet ;  but  the  locked 
features  had  relaxed  a  little,  the  limbs  were  outlined  less 
rigidly  under  the  snow-white  counterpane  than  they  had 
been  upon  the  forest  path.  There  was  a  faint  stir  of 
breath  about  the  chest  also  ;  but  for  this  the  intense  still 
ness  in  which  he  lay  would  have  been  horrible. 

As  she  gazed,  holding  her  own  breath  that  she  might 
listen  for  his,  her  hand  was  touched  softly  by  lips  that 
seemed  to  be  whispering  a  prayer  or  blessing,  and  Mrs. 
Hippie  stole  from  the  room. 

Lady  Rose  was  alone  with  the  man  she  loved  better 
than  anything  on  earth,  and  the  solitude  made  her 
tremble,  as  if  she  were  committing  a  crime.  She  dared 
not  move,  or  scarcely  breathe.  What  if  he  were  to  open 
his  eyes  and  discover  her !  Then  she  could  only  wish  to 
die  of  the  shame  she  had  brought  upon  herself. 

Still  the  girl  was  fascinated.  The  way  of  retreat  was 
before  her,  but  she  would  not  take  it.  Perhaps  this  was 
the  only  time  she  might  hope  to  see  him  upon  earth. 
Was  she  to  cast  this  precious  opportunity  away?  He 
stirred  a  little.  It  was  nothing  but  a  faint  shiver  of  the 
limbs;  but  that  was  enough  to  startle  her.  Then  a 
shadow  seemed  to  flit  across  his  features.  His  eyes 
opened,  and  were  fixed  upon  her  with  a  blank,  un 
questioning  look. 

Lady  Eose  could  not  help  the  words  that  sprang  to 
her  lips. 

"Are  you  better?     Ah,  tell  me  that  you  are  better." 

A  faint  gleam  of  intelligence  came  into  the  eyes  she  no 
longer  sought  to  evade,  and  the  lips  moved  a  little,  as  if 
something  heavier  than  a  breath  were  disturbing  them. 

"  Can  you  speak  ?     Do  you  know  me  ?  " 

Some  unintelligible  words  were  broken  on  the  invalid's 
lips. 


"Do  you  want  anything?" 

"No.     I— I— " 

Here  the  man's  feeble  speech  broke  off,  and  his  head 
moved  restlessly  on  the  pillow.  Lady  Rose  leaned  over 
him.  Her  soul  was  craving  one  word  of  recognition. 

"  Try  and  say  if  you  know  me/'  she  whispered,  too 
eager  for  any  thought  of  the  fear  that  had  possessed  her. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know.  Only  the  name.  I  never  men 
tion  that — never !  " 

"  But  why  ?     Is  it  hateful  to  you  ?  " 

"  Hateful !     No,  no  !     Don't  you  know  that  ?  " 

Rose  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  but  touched  his 
forehead  with  her  hand.  A  ghostly  little  smile  crept 
over  his  mouth,  which  was  half-concealed  by  a  wave  of 
the  silken  beard  that  had  drifted  across  it.  She  longed  to 
know  if  it  was  a  smile  or  a  tremor  of  light  from  the 
shaded  lamp,  and  softly  smoothed  the  beard  away.  As 
she  did  so,  a  faint  kiss  was  left  upon  her  hand.  She 
drew  it  back  with  a  sob  of  delight  so  exquisite  that  it 
made  her  feel  faint. 

"He  knows  me.  With  his  poor,  feeble  breath  he  has 
kissed  my  hand."  This  thought  vvas  like  rare  old  wine 
to  the  girl ;  she  felt  its  glow  in  every  pulse  of  her  being. 
With  that  precious  kiss  on  her  palm,  she  drew  back 
among  the  curtains,  and  gathered  it  into  her  heart,  press 
ing  her  lips  where  his  had  been,  as  children  hide  away 
to  eat  their  stolen  fruit. 

Then  she  grew  ashamed  of  her  own  happiness,  and 
came  into  sight  again.  Hurst  was  apparently  asleep 
then.  His  eyes  were  closed ;  but  low  murmurs  broke 
from  him,  now  and  then,  as  if  he  were  toiling  through 
some  dream.  The  girl  bent  her  head  to  listen.  The 
hunger  of  a  loving  heart  made  her  insatiable. 


164 

"  Here — here  with  me  !  Then  all  is  well !  Dreams 
haunt  one:  but  what  are  dreams?  Her  hand  was  on  my 
mouth.  I  felt  her  breath.  No  harm  has  come  to  her. 
Yet,  and  yet — dreams  all ! " 

Here  the  young  man  fell  into  deeper  unconsciousness, 
and  his  murmurs  ceased  almost  entirely. 

Some  minutes  passed,  and  then  the  door  was  swiftly 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Hippie  glided  through. 

"My  lady!  my  lady!  They  are  here,  mounting  the 
terrace." 

Lady  Rose  heard  the  loud  whisper,  and  fled  from  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

A    FATHER'S    MISGIVING. 

A  FIGURE  crouched  low  in  the  darkness  of  that 
narrow  passage,  listening  at  the  door,  and  shrink 
ing  with  shudders  when  a  groan  broke  through  the  ill- 
fitted  panels.  There  was  some  confusion  in  the  room 
beyond,  voices,  and  guarded  footsteps,  quick  orders  given, 
then  dull,  dead  silence,  and  a  sharp  scream  of  agony. 

"  That  was  his  cry  !  They  are  killing  him  !  they  are 
killing  him !"  cried  that  poor  girl,  springing  to  her  feet. 

Ruth  opened  the  door  in  rash  haste,  and  her  pale  face 
looked  in. 

"  Back !     Go  back,  child  ! " 

It  was  the  impatient  voice  and  white  hand  of  the 
surgeon  that  warned  Ruth  Jessup  back  ;  and  she  shrunk 
into  the  darkness  again,  appalled  by  what  she  had  seen — 


MISGIVING.  165 

her  father's  gray  hair,  scattered  on  the  pillow,  his  face 
writhing,  and  his  eyes  hot  and  wild  with  anguish. 

It  was  a  terrible  picture,  but  while  it  wrung  her  heart, 
there  was  hope  in  the  agony  it  brought.  Anything  was 
better  than  the  deathly  stillness  that  had  terrified  her 
under  the  cedars.  It  was  something  that  her  father  could 
feel  pain. 

"  Now,"  said  the  kind  surgeon,  looking  through  the 
door,  "  you  can  come  in.  The  bullet  is  extracted." 

In  his  white  palm  lay  a  bit  of  bent  lead,  which  he 
looked  upon  lovingly,  for  it  was  a  proof  of  his  own  pro 
fessional  skill ;  but  Ruth  turned  from  it  with  a  shiver, 
and  creeping  up  to  her  father's  bed,  knelt  down  by  it, 
holding  back  her  tears,  and  burying  her  face  in  the  bed 
clothes,  afraid  to  meet  the  wild  eyes  turned  upon  her. 

The  wounded  man  moved  his  hand  a  little  toward  her. 
She  took  it  in  her  own  timid  clasp,  and  laid  her  wet 
cheek  upon  it  in  penitent  humility. 

"Oh,  father!" 

The  hard  fingers  stirred  in  her  grasp. 

"  Did  it  hurt  you  so  ?     Has  it  almost  killed  you  ?  " 

The  old  man  turned  a  little  and  bent  his  eyes  upon 
her. 

"  It  isn't  that  hurt,"  he  struggled  to  say.     "  Not  that." 

Ruth  began  to  tremble.     She  understood  him. 

"  Oh,  father  ! "  she  faltered,  "  who  did  it  ?  How  could 
you  have  been  hurt?" 

A  stern  glance  shot  from  the  sick  man's  eye. 

" You!  oh,  you!" 

"Oh,  father  !  I  did  not  know.     How  could  I  ?" 

The  old  man  drew  away  his  hand,  and  shook  off  the 
tears  she  had  left  upon  it,  with  more  strength  than  he 
seemed  to  possess. 


166  NORSTON'S    REST. 

«  Hush  ! "  he  said.     "  You  trouble  me." 

Ruth  shrunk  away,  and  once  more  rested  her  head  on 
the  quilt,  that  was  soon  wet  with  her  tears.  After  a 
little  she  crept  close  to  him  again,  and  timidly  touched 
his  hand. 

"Father!" 

"  Poor  child  !     Poor,  foolish  child  ! " 

"  Father,  forgive  me  ! " 

The  sick  man's  face  quivered  all  over,  and,  spite  of  an 
effort  to  restrain  it,  his  poor  hand  rose  tremblingly,  and 
fell  on  that  bowed  head. 

"  Oh,  my  child  !  if  we  had  both  died  before  this  thing 
happened." 

"  I  wish  we  had.     Oh,  how  I  wish  we  had  ! " 

"  It  was  my  fault/'  murmured  the  sick  man. 

"  JSTo,  no  !     It  was  mine.     I  am  to  blame,  I  alone." 

"  I  might  have  known  it ;  poor,  lost  lamb,  I  might 
have  known  it." 

Ruth  lifted  her  head  suddenly. 

"  Lost  lamb !  Oh,  father !  what  do  these  words 
mean?" 

The  gardener  shook  his  head  faintly,  closed  his  eyes, 
and  two  great  tears  rolled  from  under  the  lids. 

"  Oh  !  tell  me— tell  me !     I— I  cannot  bear  it,  father  ! " 

That  moment  the  surgeons,  who  had  gone  out  for  con 
sultation,  came  back  and  rather  sternly  reprimanded 
Ruth  for  talking  with  their  patient. 

The  girl  rose  obediently,  and  turned  away  from  the 
bed.  The  surgeons  saw  that  a  scarlet  heat  had  driven 
away  the  pallor  of  her  countenance,  but  took  no  heed  of 
that.  She  had  evidently  agitated  their  patient,  and  this 
was  sufficient  excuse  for  some  degree  of  severity,  so  she 
went  forth,  relieved  of  her  former  awful  dread,  but 
wounded  with  new  anxieties. 


167 

Two  days  followed  of  intense  suffering  to  that  wounded 
man  and  the  broken-hearted  girl.  Fever  and  delirium 
set  in  with  him,  terror  and  dread  with  her.  The  power 
of  reason  had  come  out  of  that  great  shock.  In  trem 
bling  and  awe  she  had  asked  herself  questions. 

Who  had  fired  that  murderous  shot  ?  How  had  the  gun 
disappeared  from  behind  the  passage  door,  where  Richard 
Storms  had  surely  left  it?  Had  there  been  a  quarrel 
between  the  father  she  loved  and  the  husband  she  adored  ? 
If  so,  which  was  the  aggressor  ? 

The  poor  girl  remembered  with  dread  the  questions 
with  which  her  father  had  startled  her  so  that  night,  the 
sharp  gleam  of  his  usually  kind  eyes,  and  the  set  firmness 
of  his  mouth,  while  he  waited  for  her  answer.  Did  he 
guess  at  the  deception  she  had  practised,  or  were  his  sus 
picions  such  as  made  the  blood  burn  in  her  veins  ? 

With  these  thoughts  harassing  her  mind,  the  young 
creature  watched  over  that  sick  man  until  her  own 
strength  began  to  droop.  In  his  delirium,  he  had  talked 
wildly,  and  uttered  at  random  many  a  broken  fancy  that 
cut  her  to  the  soul ;  but  even  in  his  helpless  state  there 
had  seemed  to  be  an  undercurrent  of  caution  curbing  his 
tongue.  He  raved  of  the  man  who  had  shot  him,  but 
mentioned  no  names ;  spoke  of  his  daughter  with  hushed 
tenderness,  but  still  with  a  sort  of  reserve,  as  if  he  were 
keeping  some  painful  secret  back  in  his  heart.  Some 
times  he  recognized  her,  and  then  his  eyes,  lurid  with 
fever,  would  fill  with  hot  tears. 

After  a  while  this  fever  of  the  brain  passed  off,  and  left 
the  strong  man  weak  as  a  child.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had 
lost  all  force,  even  for  suffering ;  but  Ruth  felt  that  some 
painful  thing,  that  he  never  spoke  of  or  hinted  at, 
haunted  him.  He  was  strangely  wakeful,  and  at  times 


168  HOUSTON'S   REST. 

she  felt  his  great  eyes  looking  out  at  her  from  their 
deepening  caverns,  with  an  expression  that  made  her 
heart  sink. 

One  day  he  spoke  to  her  with  a  suddenness  that  made 
her  breath  stand  still. 

"Ruth!" 

" Father,  did  you  speak  to  me?" 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Who,  father?" 
i    "  You  know.     Is  he  safe  out  of  the  way  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean — " 

The  girl  broke  off.  She  could  not  utter  Walton  Hurst's 
name.  The  sick  man  also  seemed  to  shrink  from  it. 

"Is  he  safe?" 

"  Oh,  father !  he  was  hurt  like  yourself." 

"  Hurt ! — he  ?     I  am  speaking  of  Walton  Hurst,  girl." 

The  man  spoke  out  plainly  now,  and  a  wild  question 
ing  look  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  father  !  he  was  found,  like  yourself,  lying  on  the 
ground,  senseless.  We  thought  that  he  was  dead." 

"  Lying  on  the  ground  !  Who  hurt  him  ?  Not  I — 
not  I!" 

Ruth  flung  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bed ;  a  flush  of 
coming  tears  rushed  over  her  face. 

"Oh,  father!  oh,  thank  God!  father,  dear  father!" 

"Did  you  think  that?"  whispered  the  sick  man,  over- 
'  whelmed  by  this  swift  outburst  of  feeling. 

"  I  did  not  know — I  could  not  tell.  It  was  all  so 
strange,  so  terrible !  Oh,  father,  I  have  been  so  trou 
bled  ! " 

The  sick  man  looked  at  her  earnestly. 

"Ruth!" 

"Yes,  father!" 


169 

"Was  he  shot  like  me?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  They  say  not.  Some  terrible  blow 
on  the  head,  but  no  blood." 

"A  blow  on  the  head !  But  how  ?  As  God  is  my 
witness,  I  struck  no  one." 

Ruth  fell  to  kissing  that  large,  helpless  hand,  as  if 
some  awful  stain  had  just  been  removed  from  it.  In  all 
her  father's  sickness  she  had  never  touched  him  with 
her  sweet  lips  till  now.  Then  all  at  once  she  drew  back 
as  if  an  arrow  had  struck  her.  It  was  something  keener 
than  that — one  of  the  thoughts  that  kill  as  they  strike. 
After  a  struggle  for  breath,  she  spoke. 

"But  who?  Oh,  father,  you  were  shot.  Was  it — 
was  it — " 

"  Hush,  child  !  Not  a  word  !  I — I  will  not  hear  a 
word.  Never  let  that  question  pass  your  lips  again  so 
long  as  you  live.  I  charge  you — I  charge  you  ! " 

The  sick  man  fell  back  exhausted,  and  gasping  for 
breath.  The  question  put  so  naturally  by  his  daughter 
seemed  to  have  given  him  a  dangerous  shock. 

"But  how  is  he  now?" 

The  question  was  asked  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  and  more 
by  the  bright  eyes  than  those  trembling  lips. 

"  I — I  have  not  dared  to  ask.  I — I  could  not  leave 
you  here  alone,"  answered  Ruth,  with  a  fitful  quiver  of 
the  lips. 

"How  long  is  it?" 

"  Two  days,  father." 

"  Two  days,  and  no  news  of  him." 

"  They  would  not  keep  it  from  us  if  he  had  been  worse," 
said  Ruth,  who  had  listened  with  sickening  dread  to  every 
footstep  that  approached  the  cottage  during  all  that  time, 
fearing  the  news  she  expected,  and  gathering  hope  be 
cause  it  did  not  come. 


170 

"Has  Sir  Noel  been  here?" 

"  He  was  here  that  night,"  answered  Ruth,  shudder 
ing,  as  she  thought  of  the  awful  scene,  when  her  father 
was  brought  home  so  death-like. 

"  Not  since  ?     He  knew  that  I  was  hurt,  too." 

"  He  has  sent  the  doctors  here." 

"What  news  did  they  bring?" 

"  I— I  did  not  dare  to  ask." 

A  look  of  deep  compassion  broke  into  those  sunken 
eyes,  and,  turning  on  his  pillow,  the  old  man  murmured 
in  a  painful  whisper: 

"Poor  child!     Poor  child!" 

Then  Ruth  fell  to  kissing  his  great  hand  again,  mur 
muring  : 

"Oh,  father  !  you  are  so  good  to  me — so  good  !" 

"  I  am  weak — so  weak,"  he  answered,  as  if  excusing 
something  to  himself.  "  But  how  could  he —  Well, 
well,  when  I  am  stronger — when  I  am  stronger." 

The  cottage  was  small,  and  the  jar  of  an  opening  door 
could  be  felt  through  the  whole  little  building.  Some 
one  was  trying  at  the  latch  then,  and  a  step  was  heard  in 
the  passage. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

THE     BIRD     AND     THE     SERPENT. 

O.     It  may  be  news,"  said  the  sick  man. 

Before  Ruth  could  reach  the  door  she  met 
Richard  Storms  coming  toward  her  father's  room.  His 
manner  was  less  audacious  than  usual,  and  his  face 
clouded. 


THE     BIRD     AND     THE     SERPENT.        171 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  after  your  father/7  he  said,  with 
an  anxious  look,  as  if  he  expected  some  rebuff.  "  They  say 
that  he  has  been  shot  in  the  back  by  some  lurking  thief. 
Perhaps  I  could  help  ferret  out  who  it  is  if  the  old  man'll 
tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Father  is  too  ill  for  talking,"  answered  Ruth,  shrink 
ing  out  of  her  visitor's  path.  "  He  must  be  kept  quiet." 

"Of  course;  but  not  from  neighbors  like  us.  The 
old  man  at  the  farm  sent  me  over  to  hear  all  about  it." 

"There  is  nothing  to  hear.  Everybody  knows  how 
my  poor  father  was  found  bleeding  in  the  park.  He  has 
been  very  ill  since,  and  is  only  now  coming  to  himself." 

"  Oh !  ah !  Then  he  has  come  to  his  senses.  That 
was  what  we  most  wanted  to  know ;  for,  of  course,  he 
can  tell  who  shot  him.  I'll  be  sworn  it  is  guessed  at 
rightly  enough.  Still  knowing  is  knowing." 

As  he  spoke,  Storms  moved  forward,  as  if  determined 
to  enter  the  sick  man's  chamber. 

Ruth  had  no  means  of  stopping  him.  She  retreated 
backward,  step  by  step,  shrinking  from  his  approach,  but 
without  the  least  power  of  resistance.  When  she  reached 
the  door,  Storms  put  forth  his  hand  and  attempted  to 
put  her  aside,  not  rudely;  but  she  so  loathed  his  touch, 
that  a  faint  cry  broke  from  hers. 

A  look  of  bitter  malice  broke  over  the  young  man's 
face  as  he  bent  it  close  to  her. 

"You  didn't  scream  so  when  the  young  master  took 
my  place  the  night  all  this  trouble  came  up.  I  could 
tell  something  of  what  chanced  between  your  sweetheart 
and  the  old  man,  after  he  went  out  with  my  gun  in  his 
hand." 

"You  know — you  can  tell?  You  saw?"  whispered 
the  poor  girl,  rendered  hoarse  by  fear. 


172  NOES  TON'S     BEST. 

"Ah,  that  makes  you  whimper,  does  it?  That  starts 
the  blood  from  your  white  face.  Yes,  I  saw  —  I  saw; 
and  when  the  courts  want  to  know  what  I  saw  they  will 
hear  about  it.  Kicked  dogs  bite  now  and  then.  So 
don't  gather  your  comely  little  self  into  a  heap,  when  I 
come  by  again,  or  my  tongue  may  be  loosened.  I  have 
kept  it  between  my  teeth  till  now,  for  the  sake  of  old 
times,  when  you  were  ready  to  smile  when  I  came  and 
were  sorry  when  I  went." 

"  But  we  were  children  then." 

"Yes;  but  when  he  came  with  his  dainty  wooing, 
some  one  forgot  that  she  had  ever  been  a  child." 

"  No,  no  !     As  a  playmate,  I  liked  you.     It  was  when, 


"  When,  having  the  feelings  of  a  man,  I  spoke  them 
out,  and  was  treated  like  a  dog.  Do  not  think  I  will 
ever  forget  that.  No,  never  —  never,  to  my  dying 
day." 

"Why  are  you  so  harsh  with  me,  Richard?"  cried  the 
poor  girl,  now  thoroughly  terrified.  "I  never  in  my 
whole  life  have  done  you  harm." 

The  young  man  laughed  a  low,  disagreeable  laugh. 

"Harm!  Oh,  no!  Such  milk-white  doves  as  you 
never  harm  anything.  They  only  fire  a  man's  heart 
with  love,  then  torment  him  with  it,  like  witches  —  soft- 
spoken,  smiling  witches  —  that  make  us  devils  with  their 
jibes,  and  idiots  with  their  tears.  Oh,  I  hardly  know 
which  is  most  enticing,  love  or  hate,  for  such  creatures." 

"  Don't  !  don't  !     You  frighten  me  !  "  pleaded  the  girl. 

"Aye,  there  it  is.  Faint  at  a  plain  word  ;  but  work 
out  murder  and  bloodshed  with  the  witchcraft  of  your 
false  smiles  and  lying  tears.  That  is  what  you  have 
done,  Ruth  Jessup." 


THE     B1KD     AND     THE     SERPENT.        173 

"  No !  no  ! "  cried  the  girl,  putting  up  her  hands. 

"  Who  was  it  that  set  her  own  father  and  sweetheart 
at  each  other?'7 

"  Hush  !  I  will  not  hear  this.  It  is  false — it  is  cruel. 
There  was  no  quarrel  between  them — no  evil  blood." 

"  No  quarrel — no  evil  blood  !  She  says  that,  looking 
meek  as  a  spring-lamb,  chewing  the  lie  in  her  mouth  as 
that  does  clover.  But  what  if  I  tell  you  that  the  old 
man  in  yonder  knew  just  all  that  happened  after  I  was 
turned  out  of  the  kitchen  that  night?" 

"It  was  you  who  told  him  that  which  might  have 
brought  great  trouble  on  him  and  me ;  only  good  men 
are  slow  to  believe  evil  of  those  they  love.  I  knew  from 
his  own  lips  that  you  had  waylaid  him  in  the  park  with 
a  wicked  falsehood." 

"  It  was  the  truth,  every  word  of  it,"  exclaimed  Storms, 
stamping  his  foot  on  the  floor.  "  I  saw  it  with  my 
own  eyes." 

"  Saw  what  ?"  faltered  the  girl,  sick  with  apprehension. 

"Saw!  But  I  need  not  tell  you.  Only  the  next 
time  Sir  Noel's  heir  comes  here,  with  his  orders  for 
flowers,  and  his  wanting  to  know  all  about  growing 
roses,  have  a  curtain  to  the  kitchen  window,  or  train  the 
ivy  thicker  over  it.  Now  do  you  understand?" 

"  It  is  you  who  cannot  understand,"  said  Ruth,  feel 
ing  a  glow  of  courage,  which  the  young  man  mistook  for 
shame.  "  The  thing  you  did  was  a  mean  act,  and  if  I 
had  never  hated  you  before,  that  would  be  cause  enough." 

"  This  is  brass.  After  all,  I  did  think  to  see  some 
sign  of  shame." 

Ruth  turned  away,  faint  with  terror  and  disgust. 

"  You  may  thank  rne  that  I  told  no  one  but  the  old 
man  in  yonder.  Had  I  gone  to  Sir  Noel — " 


174  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"  No,  no — you  could  not ;  you  dare  not ! " 

"  Dare  not !  Well,  now,  I  like  that.  Some  day  you 
will  know  how  much  I  dare." 

"  But  why — why  do  you  wish  to  injure  me?" 

"  Why  does  a  hound  snap  when  you  mock  him  with 
a  dainty  bit  of  beef,  and  while  his  mouth  waters,  and 
his  eyes  gloat,  toss  it  beyond  his  reach?  You  have 
learned  something  of  the  kennels,  Ruth  Jessup,  and 
should  know  that  men  and  hounds  are  alike  in  this." 

Ruth  could  hardly  suppress  the  scorn  that  crept 
through  her  into  silence.  But  she  felt  that  this  man 
held  an  awful  power  over  everything  she  loved,  and 
gave  no  expression  to  her  bitter  loathing. 

"Do  you  mean  to  let  me  in?  "said  Storms,  almost 
coaxingly.  "  I  want  to  have  a  word  with  the  old  man." 

Ruth  stood  aside.  She  dared  not  oppose  him ;  but 
when  free  to  pass,  he  hesitated,  and  a  look  of  nervous 
anxiety  came  over  his  features. 

"  The  old  man  doesn't  speak  much ;  hasn't  said  how 
it  all  happened,  ha?" 

"He  has  said  nothing  about  it,"  answered  Ruth, 
struck  with  new  terror. 

The  look  of  cool  audacity  came  back  to  her  enemy's 
face,  and,  without  more  ceremony,  he  pushed  his  way 
into  the  wounded  man's  room. 


TRUE     AS     STEEL.  %  175 

CHAPTER    XXYL 

TRUE     AS     STEEL. 

"TESSUP  was  lying  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  his 
*J  mouth  firmly  compressed,  as  if  in  pain.  But  the 
tread  of  heavy  feet  on  the  floor  aroused  him,  and  he 
opened  his  eyes  in  languid  wonder.  The  sight  of  Storms 
brought  slow  fire  to  his  eyes. 

"Is  it  you — you?"  he  whispered,  sharply. 

"  Yes,  neighbor  Jessup,  it  is  I,"  answered  Storms. 
"  Father  is  sadly  put  about,  and  wants  to  know  how  it 
all  happened.  He  means  to  have  justice  done,  if  no  one 
else  stirs  in  the  matter — and  I  think  with  him." 

A  look  of  keen,  almost  ferocious  anxiety,  darkened 
the  young  man's  face  as  he  said  this. 

"  That  is  kind  and  neighborly,"  answered  the  gar 
dener,  moving  restlessly  in  his  bed.  "But  there  is 
nothing  to  tell." 

Storms  looked  at  the  sick  man  in  dumb  amazement. 
Up  to  this  time  his  manner  had  been  anxious,  and  his 
voice  hurried.  Now  a  dark  red  glow  rose  to  his  face, 
and  blazed  from  his  eyes  with  a  glare  of  relief. 

"  Nothing  to  tell,  and  you  shot  through  the  shoulder, 
in  a  way  that  has  set  the  whole  country  side  in  com 
motion  ?  This  is  a  pretty  tale  to  go  home  with." 

The  young  man  spoke  cheerfully,  and  with  a  sort  of 
chuckle  in  his  voice. 

"  It  is  the  truth,"  said  Jessup,  closing  his  eyes. 

"  But  some  one  shot  you." 

"  It  was  an  accident,"  whispered  the  sick  man. 

"An  accident !     Oh  !  was  it  an  accident  ?  " 


176 

"Nothing  worse." 

"Are  you  in  earnest,  Jessup?" 

"Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  jokes?"  said  the  gar 
dener,  with  a  slow  smile. 

"And  you  are  willing  to  swear  to  this?" 

"  No  one  will  want  me  to  swear.  No  harm  worth 
speaking  of  has  been  done." 

"  Don't  you  be  sure  of  that,"  answered  Storms.  "  The 
peace  has  been  broken,  and  two  men  have  been  badly 
hurt.  This  is  work  for  a  magistrate." 

Jessup  shook  his  pale  head  on  the  pillow,  and  spoke 
with  some  energy. 

"  I  tell  you  it  was  an  accident ;  my  gun  went  off." 

"And  I  tell  you  it  was  no  accident.  I  saw  it  all  with 
rny  own  eyes." 

( i  You — you  saw  it  all  ?  "  exclaimed  Jessup,  rising  on 
his  elbow.  "You!" 

"  Just  as  plain  as  a  bright  moon  and  stars  could  show 
it  to  me." 

"How?     How—" 

Jessup  had  struggled  up  from  his  pillow,  but  fell 
back  almost  fainting,  with  his  wild  eyes  fixed  steadily 
on  the  young  man's  face. 

"  I  had  just  passed  under  the  cedar-trees,  when  you 
came  in  sight,  walking  fast,  as  if  you  were  in  a  hurry  to 
find  some  one." 

"  It  was  you  I  was  looking  for.  I  was  on  my  way  to 
find  you,"  whispered  Jessup,  so  hoarsely  that  Storms 
had  to  bend  low  to  catch  his  words. 

"  Me !     What  for,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I  thought  you  had  lied  to  me,"  answered 
the  old  man,  turning  his  face  from  the  light.  "  Oh,  that 
it  had  been  so — if  it  only  had  been  so ! " 


TEUE     AS     STEEL.  177 

A  sob  shook  that  strong  frame,  arid  from  under  the 
wrinkled  eyelids  two  great  tears  forced  their  way. 

A  flash  of  intelligence  gleamed  across  Storms'  face. 
He  was  gaining  more  information  than  he  had  dared  to 
hope  for.  But  craft  is  the  refuge  of  knaves,  and  the 
wisdom  of  fools.  He  had  self-command  enough  for 
deception,  and  pretended  not  to  observe  the  anguish  of 
that  proud  man,  for  proud  he  was,  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  word. 

"I  was  hanging  about  the  grounds,  too  savage  for 
home  or  anything  else/7  he  went  on  to  say.  "  I  had 
seen  enough  to  drive  a  man  mad,  and  was  almost  that, 
When  you  came  up.  There  was  another  man  under  the 
cedar-trees.  I  had  been  watching  for  him  all  the  even 
ing.  You  know  who  that  was." 

Jessup  gave  a  faint  groan. 

"  I  knew  that  he  was  skulking  there  in  hope  of  see 
ing  her  again." 

"It  is  a  mistake!"  exclaimed  Jessup,  with  more  force 
in  his  voice  than  he  had  as  yet  shown. 

Storms  laughed  mockingly. 

"So  you  mean  to  shield  him?  You — you  tell  me 
that  young  master  wasn't  in  your  house  that  night: 
that  your  daughter  did  not  see  him;  that  he  did  not 
shoot  you  for  being  in  the  way?  Perhaps  you  will 
expect  me  to  believe  all  that;  but  I  saw  it!" 

As  these  cruel  words  were  rained  over  him,  the  sick 
man  settled  down  in  his  bed,  and  seemed  hardened  into 
iron.  The  fire  of  combat  glowed  in  his  deep-set  eyes, 
and  his  hand  clenched  a  fold  of  the  bed-clothes,  as  if 
both  had  been  chiselled  out  of  marble. 

"  No  one  shot  me.     It  was  my  own  careless  handling 
of  the  gun,"  he  said.     "  No  one  shot  me." 
11 


178  K  OUST  ON   S     REST. 

Storms  laughed  again. 

"  Oh,  no,  Jessup,  that'll  never  do !  What  a  man  sees 
he  sees." 

"  No  one  shot  me — it  was  myself." 

"  But  how  did  he  come  to  harm,  if  it  was  not  a  kick 
on  the  head  from  the  gun  he  did  not  know  how  to  man- 

ao-e  ?     I  could   have  told  him  how  to  handle  it  better. 

& 

My  gun,  too — 

"  Your  gun  ! " 

"  Yes,  my  gun.  I  left  it  behind  the  door,  in  the  pas 
sage,  when  he  sent  me  cut.  He  took  it  when  it  was 
dangerous  to  stay  longer.  I  saw  it  in  his  hand  before 
you  came  out.  He  was  armed — you  were  not." 

"  I  took  the  gun,"  said  Jessup. 

"  You  will  swear  to  that ! "  said  Storms,  really  amazed. 
"You  believe  it?" 

"  I  took  the  gun.  It  went  off  by  chance.  That  is  all 
I  have  to  say.  Now  leave  me,  young  man,  for  so  much 
talk  is  more  than  I  can  bear." 

Storms  obeyed.  He  had  not  only  gained  all  the 
information  he  wanted,  but  the  material  for  new  mis 
chief  had  been  supplied  to  a  brain  that  was  strong  to 
work  out  evil.  He  found  Ruth  in  the  passage,  walking 
up  and  down,  wild  and  pale  with  distress.  She  gave 
him  a  look  that  might  have  softened  a  heart  of  marble, 
but  only  increased  his  self-gratulation. 

"  Just  let  me  ask  this,"  he  said,  coming  close  to  her, 
with  a  sneer  on  his  face.  "Which  of  those  two  men 
took  out  the  gun  I  left  standing  behind  the  door  that 
night — father  or  sweetheart?  One  or  the  other  will 
have  to  answer  for  it.  Which  would  you  prefer  to  have 
hanged?" 

The  deadly  whiteness  which  swept  over  that  young 


TRUE     AS     STEEL.  179 

face  only  deepened  the  cruel  sneer  that  had  brought  it 
forth.  Bending  lower  down,  the  wretch  added, 

"  I  saw  it  all.  I  know  which  it  was  that  fired  the 
shot.  Now  what  will  you  give  me  to  hold  my  tongue  ?" 

Ruth  could  not  speak ;  but  her  eyes,  full  of  shrinking 
fear,  were  fixed  upon  him. 

"  You  might  marry  me  now  rather  than  see  him 
hung." 

Ruth  shuddered,  and  looked  wildly  around,  as  a  bird 
seeks  to  flee  from  a  serpent  that  threatens  its  life. 

"Say,  isn't  my  tongue  worth  bridling  at  a  fair  price?" 

"  I — I  do  not  understand  you,"  faltered  the  poor  young 
creature,  drawing  back  with  unconquerable  aversion,  till 
the  wall  supported  her. 

"  But  you  will  understand  what  it  all  means,  when  he 
is  dragged  to  the  assizes,  for  all  the  rabble  of  the  country 
side  to  look  upon." 

Ruth  covered  her  face  with  both  hands. 

"  Oh,  you  seem  to  see  it  now.  That  handsome  face, 
looking  out  of  a  criminal's  box ;  those  white  hands  held 
up  pleading  for  mercy.  Mind  you,  his  high  birth  and  all 
his  father's  gold  will  only  be  the  worse  for  him.  The 
laws  of  old  England  reach  gentlemen  as  well  as  us  poor 
working  folks.  Ha  !  what  is  this?" 

The  cruel  wretch  might  well  cry  out,  for  Ruth  had 
fainted  at  his  feet. 


180  NORSTOX'S     REST. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A     CRUEL     DESERTION. 

A  WEEK  or  two  before  these  painful  events  hap 
pened  at  "Norston's  Rest/'  Judith  Hart  had 
been  expecting  to  see  Storms  day  after  day  till  disap 
pointment  kindled  into  fiery  impatience,  and  the  still 
ness  of  her  home  became  intolerable.  Had  he,  in  fact, 
taken  offence  at  her  first  words  of  reproach,  and  left 
her  to  the  dreary  old  life?  Had  her  rude  passion  of 
jealousy  driven  him  from  her  forever,  or  was  there 
some  truth  in  the  engagement  that  woman  spoke  of? 

Again  and  again  Judith  pondered  over  these  ques 
tions,  sometimes  angry  with  herself,  and  again  filled  with 
a  burning  desire  to  know  the  worst,  and  hurl  her  rage 
and  humiliation  on  some  one  else. 

She  was  a  shrewd  girl,  endowed  with  a  sharp  intellect 
and  a  will,  that  stopped  at  nothing  in  its  reckless  assump 
tion.  To  this  was  added  a  vivid  imagination,  influenced 
by  coarse  reading,  uncurbed  affections,  and,  in  this  case, 
an  intense  passion  of  love,  that  lay  ready  to  join  all  these 
qualities  into  actions  as  steam  conquers  the  inertia  of 
iron.  One  day,  when  her  desire  for  the  presence  of  that 
man  had  become  a  desperate  longing,  her  father  came 
home  earlier  than  usual,  and  in  his  kindly  way  told  her 
that  he  had  seen  young  Storms  in  the  village  where  he 
had  loitered  half  the  morning  around  the  public  house. 

Judith  was  getting  supper  for  the  old  man  when  he 
told  her  this ;  but  she  dropped  the  loaf  from  her  hands 
and  turned  upon  him,  as  if  the  news  so  gently  spoken 
had  offended  her. 


A     CRUEL     DESERTION.  181 

"You  saw  Mr.  Storms  in  the  village,  father?  He 
stayed  there  hour  after  hour,  and,  at  last,  rode  away  up  the 
hill-road,  too,  without  stopping  here?  I  don't  believe  it ; 
if  you  told  me  so  a  thousand  times,  I  wouldn't  believe  it!" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  and  replied  apologeti 
cally,  as  if  he  wished  himself  in  the  wrong, 

"  You  needn't  believe  it,  daughter,  if  you'd  rather  not. 
I  shall  not  mind." 

"  But  is  it  true  ?  Was  it  Mr.  Storms,  the  young  gen 
tleman,  who  took  tea  with  us,  that  you  saw  ? " 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  want  to  contradict  you,  daughter 
Judith,  but  the  young  man  I  saw  was  Richard  Storms. 
He  stayed  a  long  time  at  the  public  house  talking  with 
the  landlord;  then  rode  away  on  his  blood  horse  like 
a  prince." 

"  Hours  in  the  village,  within  a  stone's  throw  from  the 
house,  and  never  once  turned  this  way,"  muttered  the 
girl,  between  her  teeth ;  and  seizing  upon  the  loaf,  she 
pressed  it  to  her  bosom,  cutting  through  it  with  a  dan 
gerous  sweep  of  the  knife. 

" Did  he  speak  to  you?"  she  asked,  turning  upon  her 
father. 

"  Nay,  he  nodded  his  head  when  I  passed  him." 

"And  the  landlord,  you  said,  they  were  speaking  to 
gether?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  quite  friendly." 

"  What  did  they  talk  about — could  you  hear?" 

"  Yes,  a  little,  now  and  then." 

"  Well ! " 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  word  lifted  above  the  rest,  when  Storms 
got  into  the  saddle." 

"A  word — well,  what  was  it  ?  " 

"  Something  about  a  lass  near  '  Norston's  Best/  that 
folks  eay  the  young  man  is  to  wed." 


182  NORSTON'S    REST. 

When  Judith  spoke  again,  her  voice  was  so  husky 
that  the  old  man  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  and  won 
dered  if  it  was  the  shadows  that  made  her  so  pale. 

She  felt  his  eyes  upon  her,  and  turned  away. 

"  Did  you  chance  to  hear  the  name — I  mean  her 
name — the  girl  he  is  going  to  wed  ?  " 

"  If  I  did,  it  has  slipped  from  my  mind,  but  it  was 
some  one  about  '  Norston's  Rest.7  She  is  to  have  a  mint 
of  money  when  some  people  die  who  are  in  the  way." 

"Did  he  say  this?" 

"  Yes,  daughter." 

When  Hart  looked  around,  he  saw  that  Judith  had 
laid  the  loaf  of  bread  on  the  table,  with  the  knife  thrust 
in  it,  and  was  gone.  The  old  man  was  used  to  such 
reckless  abandonment  whenever  Judith  was  displeased 
with  a  subject,  or  disliked  a  task;  so,  after  waiting 
patiently  a  while  for  her  to  come  back,  he  broke  off  the 
half-severed  slice  of  bread,  and  began  to  make  his  supper 
from  that. 

After  a  while  Judith  came  into  the  room.  Her  color 
was  all  gone,  and  a  look  of  fiery  resolve  broke  through 
the  trouble  in  her  eyes. 

"Where  has  he  gone,  father — can  you  tell  me  that?" 

"  How  can  I  say  ?  He  wasn't  likely  to  give  much  of 
an  account  of  himself  to  an  old  man  like  me." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  strange  that  he  should  go  off  like 
that?" 

"  Well,  no,"  answered  the  old  man,  with  some  deliber 
ation.  "Young  fellows  like  him  take  sudden  ideas  into 
their  heads.  They're  not  to  be  depended  on." 

"And  this  is  all  you  know,  father  ?  " 

"Yes;  how  should  I  know  more?" 

"  Good-night,  father." 


A     CRUEL     DESERTION.  183 

The  girl  went  into  the  hall,  came  back  again,  and 
kissed  her  father  on  the  forehead  three  or  four  times. 
While  she  did  this,  tears  leaped  into  her  eyes,  and  the 
arms  around  his  neck  trembled  violently. 

"  Why,  what  has  come  over  the  girl  ?  "  said  the  old 
man.  "  I'm  not  angry  about  the  supper,  child.  One  can't 
always  expect  things  to  be  hot  and  comfortable.  There, 
now,  go  to  bed,  and  think  no  more  about  it." 

"  Go  to  bed  !  "  No,  no !  the  girl  had  no  thought  of 
sleep  that  night.  Far  into  the  morning  the  light  of  her 
meagre  candle  gleamed  through  the  window  of  her  room, 
revealing  her  movements  as  she  raved  to  and  fro,  like 
a  wild  animal  in  its  cage — sometimes  crouching  down  by 
the  window  as  if  impatient  for  the  dawn — sometimes 
flinging  herself  desperately  on  the  bed,  but  always  in 
action. 

Hart  went  to  his  work  very  early  the  next  morning,  and 
did  not  see  his  daughter,  who  sometimes  slept  far  beyond 
the  breakfast  hour.  He  was  very  tired  and  hungry  that 
night,  when  he  came  home  from  work,  but  found  the 
house  empty,  and  saw  no  preparation  for  supper,  except 
that  the  leaf  of  a  table  which  stood  against  the  wall  was 
drawn  out,  and  an  empty  plate  and  spoon  stood  upon  it. 

Finding  that  Judith  did  not  appear,  he  arose  wearily, 
went  into  the  pantry,  and  brought  out  a  dish  of  cold  por 
ridge  in  one  hand,  with  a  pitcher  of  milk  in  the  other. 
With  this  miserable  apology  for  a  meal,  he  drew  his 
chair  to  the  table  and  began  to  eat,  as  he  had  done 
many  a  time  before,  when,  from  caprice  or  idleness,  the 
girl  had  left  him  to  provide  for  himself.  Then  the  poor 
old  man  sat  by  the  hearth,  from  habit  only ;  for  noth 
ing  but  dead  ashes  was  before  him,  and  spent  a  dreary 
hour  waiting.  Still  Judith  did  not  come,  so  he  went, 


184  HOUSTON'S    REST. 

with  a  heavy  heart,  into  a  small  untidy  room  where  he 
usually  slept,  carrying  a  candle  in  his  hand. 

As  he  sat  on  the  bed  wondering,  with  vague  uneasi 
ness,  what  could  have  kept  his  daughter  out  so  late,  the 
old  man  saw  a  crumpled  paper,  folded  somewhat  in  the 
form  of  a  letter,  lying  on  the  floor  at  his  feet,  where  some 
reckless  hand  had  tossed  it.  When  this  paper  met  the 
poor  father's  eye,  he  arose  from  the  bed,  with  painful 
weariness,  and  took  it  to  the  light.  Here  he  smoothed 
the  heartless  missive  with  his  hands,  and  wandered  about 
a  while  in  search  of  his  iron-bound  spectacles,  that  shook 
in  his  hand  as  he  put  them  on : 

"  FATHER — Don't  fret  about  me;  but  I  am  going  away 
for  a  while.  This  old  place  has  tired  me  out,  and  there 
is  no  use  in  starving  oneself  in  it  any  longer.  The  wages 
you  get  is  not  enough  for  one,  to  say  nothing  of  a  girl 
that  has  wants  like  other  folks,  and  is  likely  to  keep  on 
wanting  if  she  stays  with  you  against  her  will.  I  might 
feel  worse  about  leaving  you  so  if  I  had  ever  been  of 
much  use  or  comfort  to  you ;  but  I  know  just  as  well  as 
you  do,  that  I  haven't  done  my  share,  and  nothing  like 
it.  I  know,  too,  that  if  I  stayed,  it  would  be  worse  instead 
of  better;  for  I  couldn't  stand  trying  to  be  good  just 
now — no,  not  to  save  my  life ! 

"  You  won't  miss  me,  anyhow ;  for  when  I'm  gone, 
the  people  you  work  for  will  ask  you  to  take  a  meal  now 
and  then ;  besides,  you  were  always  handy  about  the 
house,  and  know  how  to  cook  for  yourself. 

"I  would  have  come  in  to  say  good-by,  but  was  afraid 
you  might  wake  up  and  try  to  keep  me  from  going. 
Kow  don't  put  yourself  out,  or  let  the  neighbors  fill  your 
head  with  stories  about  me.  There's  nothing  to  tell, 


A     CRUEL     DESERTION.  185 

only  that  I  have  taken  an  idea  to  get  a  place  and  better 
myself,  which  I  will  before  you  see  me  again.     If  I  do, 
never  fear  that  I  will  not  send  you  some  money. 
"  Your  daughter,  JUDITH." 

The  old  man  read  this  rude  scrawl  twice  over — the 
first  time  shaking  like  a  leaf,  the  last  time  with  tears — 
every  one  a  drop  of  pain — trembling  in  his  eyes  and 
blinding  them. 

"  Gone!"  he  said,  wiping  his  eyes  with  the  soiled  linen 
of  his  sleeve.  "My  lass  gone  away,  no  one  knows  where, 
and  nothing  but  this  left  behind  to  remember  her  by ! 
Poor  thing! — poor  young  thing!  It  was  lonesome  here, 
and  maybe  I  was  hard  on  her  in  the  way  of  work — 
wanted  too  much  cooking  done !  But  I  didn't  mean  to 
be  extravagant — didn't  mean  to  drive  her  away  from 
home,  poor  motherless  thing !  It's  all  my  fault !  it's  all 
my  fault !  Oh  !  if  she  would  only  come  back,  and  give 
me  a  chance  to  tell  her  so  !  " 

The  poor  old  man  went  to  his  work  that  day,  looking 
worn  out,  and  so  downcast  that  the  neighbors  turned 
pitying  glances  at  him  as  he  passed  down  the  hill,  for  he 
never  had  stooped  so  much  or  appeared  so  forlorn  to 
them  before.  One  or  two  stopped  to  speak  with  him. 
He  said  nothing  of  his  daughter,  but  answered  their 
greetings  with  downcast  eyes  and  humble  thanks,  not 
once  mentioning  his  trouble,  or  giving  a  sign  of  the 
gnawing  anguish  that  racked  his  bosom  and  sapped  his 
strength.  She  had  left  him,  and  in  that  lay  desolation 
too  dreary  for  complaint. 


186  NORSTON'S    REST. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


"  T  MUST  see  him.    I  will  see  him  !    Oh,  Mrs.  Mason, 
-*-     if  you  only  knew  how  important  it  is !" 
The  good  housekeeper,  who  sat  in  her  comfortable  par 
lor  at  "  The  Rest,"  was  surprised  and  troubled  by  the  sud 
den  appearance  of  her  pretty  favorite  from  the  gardener's 
cottage.     She  was  hard  to  move,  but  could  not  altogether 
steel  herself  against  the  pathetic  pleading  of  that  pale 
young  creature,  who  had  come  up  from  her  home  through 
the  lonely  dusk,  to  ask  a  single  word  with  the  young  heir. 
Sick    or  well,  she  said,  that  word   must  be  spoken. 
All  she  wanted  of  Mrs.  Mason  was  to  let  her  into  his 
room  a  single  minute — one  minute — she  would  not  ask 
for  more.     Only  if  Mrs.  Mason  did  not  want  to  see  her 
die,  she  would  help  her  to  speak  that  one  word. 

There  is  something  in  passionate  earnestness  which 
will  awake  the  most  lethargic  heart  to  energy,  if  that 
heart  is  kindly  disposed.  The  stout  housekeeper  of  the 
Hall  had  known  and  petted  Ruth  Jessup  from  the  time 
she  was  old  enough  to  carry  her  little  apron  full  of  fruit 
or  flowers  from  the  gardener's  cottage  to  her  room  in  the 
great  mansion.  It  went  to  her  heart  to  refuse  anything 
to  the  fair  young  creature,  who  still  seemed  to  her  noth 
ing  more  than  a  child ;  but  the  wild  request,  and  the 
tearful  energy  with  which  it  was  urged,  startled  the  good 
woman  into  sharp  opposition. 

"  Mr.  Walton  !  You  wish  to  see  him,  Ruthy  ?  Who 
ever  heard  of  such  a  thing?  It  quite  makes  me  tremble 
to  think  of  it.  What  can  a  child  like  you  want  with 


THE    WIFE'S    VISIT.  187 

the  young  master,  and  he  sick  in  bed,  with  everybody 
shut  out  but  the  doctor,  and  wet  ice-cloths  on  his  head, 
night  and  day.  I  couldn't  think  of  mentioning  it.  I 
wonder  you  could  bring  yourself  to  ask  me.  If  it  had 
been  anything  in  my  line  now !" 

"  It  is  !  It  is  !  Kindness  is  always  in  your  line,  dear 
godmother ! "  pleaded  the  poor  girl,  putting  one  arm  over 
the  housekeeper's  broad  shoulders,  and  laying  her  pale 
cheek  against  the  rosy  freshness  which  bloomed  in  that 
of  her  friend.  "  I  wouldn't  ask  you,  only  it  is  so  im 
portant." 

"  But  what  can  it  be  that  you  want  to  say,  Euthy  ?  I 
cannot  begin  to  understand  it,"  questioned  the  old  woman, 
faltering  a  little  in  her  hastily  expressed  denial ;  for  the 
soft-pleading  kisses  lavished  on  her  face  had  their  effect. 
"  If  you  were  not  such  a  child  now." 

"  But  I  am  not  a  child,  godmother." 

"  Hoity-toity  !  Is  she  setting  herself  up  as  a  woman  ? 
"Well,  that  does  make  me  laugh.  Why,  it  is  but  yester 
day  like  since  your  mother  came  into  this  very  room, 
such  a  pale,  young  thing,  with  you  in  her  arms.  She 
was  weak  then,  with  the  consumption,  that  carried  her 
off,  burning  like  fire  in  her  poor,  thin  cheeks,  while  you 
lay  in  her  arms,  plump  as  a  pheasant,  with  those  gipsy 
black  eyes  full  of  fire,  and  a  crow  of  joy  on  your  baby 
mouth.  Ah,  me  !  I  remember  it  so  well ! " 

"  My  poor  young  mother  asked  something  of  you  then, 
didn't  she?"  said  Ruth. 

"  Well,  yes,  she  did.  I  mind  it  well.  She  had  some 
thing  on  her  heart,  and  came  to  me  about  it." 

"And  that  was—" 

"  About  you,  child.  She  knew  that  she  was  going  to 
die,  and — and  I  had  always  liked  her,  and  been  friendly, 
you  know." 


188  NORS  TON'S    REST. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.     Father  has  told  me." 

"  Being  so,  it  was  but  natural  that  she  should  come  to 
me  in  her  last  trouble." 

"  She  could  not  have  come  to  a  dearer  or  kinder  soul," 
murmured  Ruth. 

"  Nonsense,  child !  She  might ;  but  then  the  truth 
was  she  didn't.  It  was  me  the  poor  thing  chose  to  trust. 
I  shall  never  forget  her  look  that  day  when  she  sat  down 
on  a  stool  at  my  feet,  just  there  by  the  window,  and  told 
me  that  she  knew  it  was  coming  death  that  made  her  so 
feeble.  She  was  looking  at  you  then  as  well  as  she  could, 
through  the  great  tears  that  seemed  to  cool  the  heat  in 
her  eyes ;  and  you  lay  still  as  a  mouse,  looking  at  her  as 
if  there  was  cause  of  baby  wonderment  in  her  tears. 
Then  all  at  once  your  little  mouth  began  to  tremble,  and 
lifting  up  your  arms,  you  cried  out,  as  if  her  tender  grief 
had  hurt  you.  That  brought  the  tears  into  my  eyes. 
So  we  all  sat  there  crying  together,  though  hardly  a  word 
had  been  spoken  up  to  then.  Still  I  knew  what  it  all 
meant,  and  reaching  out  my  arms,  took  you  to  my  own 
bosom." 

"  Bless  you  for  it,"  murmured  Ruth. 

"Another  baby  had  slept  in  that  bosom  once,  and  some 
where  in  God's  great  universe  I  knew  that  she  might  find 
it  among  the  angels,  and  care  for  it  as  I  meant  to  care 
for  you,  Ruthy." 

"She  did!  She  does!  Only  that  child  is  so  much 
happier  than  I  am,"  sobbed  Ruth,  tenderly.  "She  has 
all  the  angels ;  I  only  you  !" 

Mrs.  Mason  lifted  her  plump  hand,  with  which  she 
patted  the  young  creature's  cheek,  and  said  that  she 
was  a  good  child,  and  always  had  been  ;  only  a  little 
headstrong,  now  and  then,  which  was  not  to  be  wondered 


THE    WIFE'S    VISIT.  189 

at,  seeing  it  was  out  of  the  question  that  she,  though  she 
meant  to  be  a  kind  godmother,  could  altogether  fill  the 
place  of  that  sweet,  dead  mother ;  she  must  be  at  her 
duties  there  in  "The  Rest,"  while  Jessup  was  obstinate, 
and  would  keep  the  child  with  him. 

"  And  you  are  all  the  mother  I  have  now,"  said  Ruth, 
who  had  listened  with  forced  patience.  "  To  whom  else 
can  I  go?" 

"  Why,  to  no  one.  I  should  like  to  see  man  or  woman 
attempt  to  cheat  me  out  of  my  trust!  I  will  say  this 
for  Jessup,  headstrong  as  he  is  about  having  you  with 
him,  he  has  not  interfered.  When  it  was  my  pleasure  to 
have  you  taught  things  that  only  ladies  think  of  learning, 
he  never  thought  of  having  a  word  to  say  against  it;  so 
I  had  my  own  way  with  my  own  money,  and  you  will 
know  the  good  of  all  the  learning  when  you  are  old 
enough  to  go  among  people,  and  think  of  a  husband, 
which  must  not  be  for  years  yet." 

Ruth  sighed  heavily. 

"  Meantime,  my  dear,"  continued  the  housekeeper, 
"  we  must  be  looking  about  for  the  proper  person.  With 
the  learning  we  have  given  you,  and  certain  prospects, 
we  shall  have  a  right  to  look  high.  Not  among  the 
gentry,  though  you  will  be  pretty  enough  and  bright 
enough  for  most  of  them,  according  to  my  thinking;  but 
there  are  genteel  tradespeople  in  the  village,  and  they 
sometimes  creep  up  among  the  gentry  in  these  times.  So 
who  knows  that  you  will  not  be  made  a  lady  in  that  way?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  Do  not  speak  of  it— do  not  think  of  it !  " 
said  Ruth,  with  nervous  energy.  "  I  cannot  bear  that !" 

"  What  a  child  it  is !  but  I  like  to  see  it.  Forward 
young  things  are  my  abomination  ;  but  you  may  as  well 
know  it  first  as  last,  Ruthy.  When  I  promised  your 


190 

dying  mother  to  be  a  mother  to  you,  it  was  not  in  words ; 
but  deep  down  in  my  heart,  I  gave  you  that  other  child's 
place.  I  am  an  old  woman,  and  have  saved  money, 
which  would  have  been  hers,  and  shall  be  yours  some  of 
these  days." 

Ruth  let  her  head  fall  on  the  kind  housekeeper's 
shoulder,  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears.  Again  the 
old  woman  patted  her  upon  the  cheek. 

"Why,  child,  what  is  the  matter?  I  thought  this 
news  would  make  you  happy.  Take  this  for  your  com 
fort,  my  savings  are  heavier  than  people  think." 

"Don't!  oh,  don't!  I  cannot  bear  it,"  sobbed  the 
girl.  "  Everybody — that  is  almost  everybody — is  far 
too  kind  :  you  above  all.  Only — only  it  is  not  money  I 
want  just  now." 

"But  my  dear—" 

"All  the  money  in  the  world,  if  you  could  give  it  me, 
could  not  be  so  much  as  the  thing  I  asked  just  now," 
Ruth  broke  in,  made  desperate  as  the  subject  of  her  wish 
seemed  drifting  out  of  sight.  "  I  want  it  so  much — so 
much." 

"  My  child,  it  is  impossible.  What  would  Sir  Xoel 
say?  What  would  the  Lady  Rose  say?" 

"She  has  no  right.  What  is  it  to  her?"  cried  the 
girl,  stung  by  a  sharp  pang  of  jealousy,  which  over 
mastered  every  other  feeling. 

"Ruth!" 

"Forgive  me.     I  am  so  unhappy." 

"  Ruth,  I  do  not  understand.  You  do  not  cry  like  a 
child,  but  as  women  cry  when  their  hearts  are  breaking." 

"My  heart  is  breaking." 

"  Poor  child  !     Is  it  about  your  father  ?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes!     My  father!" 


THE    WIFE'S    VISIT.  191 

"  But  the  doctors  say  he  is  better." 

"  He  is  better ;  but  we  fear  trouble,  great  trouble." 

"Where?     How?" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Mason,  I  must  tell  you,  or  you  will  not 
let  me  see  him.  They  will  try  to  make  out  that  the 
young  master  shot  my  father." 

"  They  ?  Who  ?  I  should  like  to  meet  the  man  who 
dares  say  it,  face  to  face  with  me." 

Ruth  shuddered.  She  had  met  the  man,  and  his  evil 
smile  haunted  her. 

"  It  may  be  that  it  is  only  a  threat,"  she  said ;  "  but  it 
frightened  us,  and  made  my  father  worse." 

"  But.  he  knows — surely  he  knows  ?  What  does  your 
father  say  ?  " 

"  The  man's  rude  talk  threw  him  into  a  fever.  He 
was  quite  wild,  and  tried  to  get  up  and  dress  himself, 
that  he  might  come  and  see  Wa — ,  the  young  master, 
at  once." 

"  Why,  the  man  was  crazy,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Mason. 

"He  seemed  like  it.  I  could  not  keep  him  in  bed, 
and  only  pacified  him,  by  promising  to  come  myself. 
You  see  now  why  it  is  that  I  must  speak  with  Mr. 
Walton." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  observed  the  housekeeper,  now  quite  be 
wildered.  "  But  had  you  not  better  go  to  Sir  Noel?" 

"  No  !  no  !  My  father  bade  me  speak  to  no  one  but 
the  young  master." 

"  Well,  well !  if  he  knows  about  your  coming,  I  don't 
so  much  mind.  Wait  a  bit,  and  I  will  send  for  Webb, 
Sir  Noel's  own  man,  who  is  in  the  young  master's  cham 
ber  night  and  day.  I  will  have  a  nice  bit  of  supper 
served  up  here,  and  that  will  keep  him  while  you  can 
steal  into  the  room  without  trouble." 


192  KORSTON'S    REST. 

Ruth  flung  her  arms  around  the  good  woman's  neck, 
and  covered  her  face  with  grateful  kisses. 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are — how  good  you  are ! " 

"  Well !  well !  Remember,  dear,  if  I  give  you  your 
own  way  now,  it  is  because  of  your  father." 

"  I  know — I  know ;  but  how  soon  ?  It  is  now  after 
dark!* 

The  housekeeper  rung  her  bell.  Then,  as  if  struck 
with  a  new  thought,  told  Ruth  to  go  into  her  bedroom, 
and  not  attempt  to  enter  any  other  part  of  the  house,  till 
she  knew  that  Webb  was  safe  down  at  the  supper-table. 
Ruth  promised,  and  stealing  into  the  bedroom,  sat  down 
on  a  couch  and  waited. 

Scarcely  had  she  left  the  room,  when  Mrs.  Hippie, 
the  companion  of  Lady  Rose,  came  in,  and  heard  the 
orders  Mrs.  Mason  gave  regarding  Webb.  A  certain 
gleam  of  intelligence  shot  across  that  shrewd  old  face, 
and  after  making  some  trifling  errand,  she  went  out,  with 
a  smile  on  her  lips. 

For  half  an  hour  Ruth  sat  in  the  darkness  with  her 
head  bowed  and  her  hands  locked.  It  seemed  an  age  to 
her  before  she  heard  the  clink  of  cups,  and  the  soft  ring 
of  silver.  Then,  listening  keenly,  she  heard  a  man's 
voice  speaking  with  the  housekeeper.  This  might  be 
Webb.  She  was  resolved  to  make  sure  of  that,  and, 
walking  on  tip-toe  across  the  carpet,  noiselessly  opened 
the  door  far  enough  to  see  that  personage  seated  by  the 
housekeeper,  eating  a  dainty  little  supper. 

Quick  as  a  bird,  Ruth  stole  through  the  opposite  door, 
up  the  servants'  stair-case,  and  along  the  upper  hall,  on 
which  the  family  bed-chambers  opened. 

Trembling  with  excitement,  which  oppressed  her  to 
faintness,  she  turned  the  latch,  and  stole  into  the  chamber, 


BY  MY  MOTHER  IN  HEAVEN.     193 

but  only  to  pause  a  step  from  the  door,  dumb  and  cold, 
as  if,  then  and  there,  turned  into  stone. 

Another  person  was  in  the  room,  standing  close  by  the 
bed,  with  the  glow  of  its  silken  curtains  falling  over  the 
soft  whiteness  of  her  dress,  and  the  rich  masses  of  her 
golden  hair.  It  was  Lady  Rose. 

A  moment  this  fair  vision  stood  gazing  upon  the  in 
mate  of  the  bed,  then  her  face  drooped  downward,  and 
seemed  to  rest  upon  the  pillow,  where  another  head  lay. 
The  night-lamp  was  dim,  but  Ruth  could  see  this,  and 
also  that  the  lady  sunk  slowly  to  her  knees,  and  rested 
her  cheek  against  a  hand,  around  which  her  fingers  were 
en  woven. 

Not  a  word  did  that  young  wife  utter.  Not  a  breath 
did  she  draw,  but,  turning  swiftly,  fled. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

BY     MY     MOTHER     IN     HEAVEN. 

T3UTII  JESSUP  stood  by  her  father's  bed,  white  as 
J-\  a  ghost,  and  cold  as  a  stone.  Pier  step,  usually  so 
light,  had  fallen  heavily  on  the  floor  as  she  entered  the 
room — so  heavily  that  the  sick  man  started  in  his  bed, 
afraid  of  some  unwelcome  intrusion.  The  room  was 
darkened,  and  he  did  not  see  how  pale  his  child  was, 
even  when  she  stood  close  to  him. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?     Did  you  tell  him  to  keep  a  close 
lip?     Does  he  know  that  I  would  be  hacked  to  pieces 
rather  than  harm  him?     Why  don't  you  speak,  Ruth?" 
12 


194 

"  I  saw  him,  father ;  but  that  was  all,"  answered  the 
girl,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  unnatural  to  him. 

"That  was  all?  Did  you  not  give  him  my  own 
words?" 

"  No,  father !  Another  person  was  with  him.  I  had 
no  power  to  speak." 

The  old  man  groaned,  and  gave  an  impatient  grip  at 
the  bed-clothes. 

"  I  will  get  up.     I  will  go  myself!" 

With  the  words  on  his  lips,  the  old  man  half-rose,  and 
fell  back  upon  his  pillow  with  a  gasp  of  pain. 

"Oh,  father  !  do  not  try  to  move.  It  hurts  you  so  !" 
said  Ruth,  bending  over  him. 

"  But  he  must  be  told.  That  young  man  threatens 
us.  Pie  must  be  told  !  So  rash — so  young.  He  might — 
Oh!" 

"  Father  !  father !     You  are  killing  yourself! " 

"  No,  no,  child  !  I  must  not  do  that.  Never  was  a 
poor  wounded  man's  life  of  so  much  consequence  as 
mine  is  now." 

Ruth  bent  over  him,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  silently 
crying. 

"Oh,  father!  what  would  I  do— what  would  I  do?" 
she  sobbed. 

The  gardener's  eyes  filled  with  pity. 

"Aye.  What  would  you?  But  I  am  not  dead  yet. 
There,  there !  wipe  your  eyes.  We  shall  live  to  go  away 
from  this  dreary  place,  and  take  the  trouble  with  us — 
the  trouble  and  the  shame." 

A  flash  of  fire  shot  through  the  pallor  of  Ruth  Jessup's 
face.  She  drew  her  slender  figure  upright. 

"Shame!  No,  father.  Sick  or  well,  I  will  not  let 
you  say  that.  No  shame  has  fallen  upon  us." 


BY     MY     MOTHER     IN     HEAVEN.  195 

«  Ruth !  Ruth !     You  say  this  ?  " 

"  Father,  I  swear  it !  I,  who  tremble  at  the  sound  of 
an  oath,  knowing  how  sacred  a  thing  it  is.  I  swear  it 
by  my  mother,  who  is  in  heaven ! " 

The  old  man  reached  up  his  arms,  and  drew  the  girl 
down  to  his  bosom,  which  was  heaving  with  great  wave- 
like  sobs. 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !  my  own — own — " 

He  murmured  these  broken  words  over  her.  He 
patted  her  shoulder;  he  smoothed  her  hair  with  his 
great,  trembling  hand.  His  sobs  shook  the  bed,  and  a 
rain  of  tears  moistened  his  pillow. 

"You  believe  me,  father?" 

"  Would  I  believe  your  mother,  could  she  speak  from 
her  place  by  the  great  white  throne?  The  mother  you 
have  sworn  by  !  " 

"  The  mother  I  have  sworn  by,"  repeated  Ruth,  lifting 
her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  !  Ah,  Ruth  !  my  child ! 
my  child  ! " 

The  locked  agony,  which  was  not  all  physical  pain, 
went  out  of  the  old  man's  face  then.  His  eyes  softened, 
his  lips  relaxed ;  a  deep,  long  breath  heaved  his  chest. 
After  this  he  lay  upon  his  pillow,  weak  as  a  child,  and 
smiling  like  one. 

Thus  Ruth  watched  by  him  for  an  hour ;  but  her  face 
was  contracted  with  anxiety,  that  came  back  upon  her 
after  the  calm  of  her  father's  rest.  She  had  told  him  the 
truth,  yet  how  much  was  k^pt  back?  There  was  no 
shame  to  confess ;  but  oh,  how  much  of  sorrow  to  en 
dure  !  Danger,  too,  of  which  Hurst  should  be  warned. 
But  how,  with  that  fair  woman  by  his  side — how  could 
any  one  approach  him  with  counsel  or  help  ? 


196  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Jessup  stirred  on  his  pillow.  An  hour  of  refreshing 
sleep  had  given  him  wonderful  strength.  That  surgeon, 
when  he  took  the  bullet  from  his  chest,  had  not  given 
him  half  the  relief  found  in  the  words  which  Ruth  had 
uttered.  But  out  of  those  words  came  subjects  for  re 
flection  when  his  brain  awoke  from  its  slumbers.  If 
Ruth  spoke  truly,  what  object  could  have  led  to  his  own 
wounds?  Why  had  young  Hurst  assaulted  him  if  there 
was  nothing  to  conceal — no  vengeance  to  anticipate? 
Then  arose  a  vague  consciousness  that  all  was  not  clear 
in  his  own  mind  regarding  the  events  that  had  brought 
him  so  near  death.  The  darkness  of  midnight  lay  under 
those  old  cedars  of  Lebanon.  He  had  seen  the  figure  of 
a  man  under  their  branches  that  night,  but  remembered  it 
vaguely.  A  little  after,  when  the  bullet  had  struck  him, 
and  he  was  struggling  up  from  the  ground,  he  did  see  a 
face  on  the  verge  of  the  moonlight,  looking  that  way. 
That  face  was  Walton  Hurst.  Then  all  was  black.  He 
must  have  fainted. 

But  how  had  the  young  man  been  wounded  ?  There 
had  been  a  struggle — Jessup  remembered  that.  Perhaps 
he  had  wrested  the  gun  from  his  assailant,  and  struck 
back  in  the  first  agony  of  his  wound ;  but  of  that  he  had 
no  certainty — a  sharp  turn,  and  one  leap  upon  the  dark 
figure,  was  all  he  could  remember. 

What  motive  was  there  for  all  this  ?  Better  than  his 
own  life  had  he  loved  the  family  of  Sir  Noel  Hurst — the 
young  heir  most  of  all.  What  cause  of  enmity  had 
arisen  up  against  him,  a  most  faithful  and  always  fa 
vored  retainer?  Ah,  if  he  could  but  see  the  young  man! 

But  that  was  impossible.  Both  were  stricken  down, 
and  Ruth  had  failed  to  carry  the  message  of  conciliation 
and  caution  that  had  been  intrusted  to  her.  Even  when 


BY  MY  MOTHER  IN  HEAVEN.    197 

writhing  under  a  sense  of  double  wrong,  his  love  for  the 
young  man  had  come  uppermost;  and  in  the  desperate 
apprehension  inspired  by  Richard  Storms,  he  had  urged 
Ruth  to  go  and  warn  the  heir. 

In  health  he  might  not  have  clone  this ;  for,  though 
anything  but  a  vindictive  man,  Jessup  was  proud  in  his 
manly  way,  and  would  have  shrunk  from  that  means  of 
reassuring  the  man  who  had  hurt  him;  but  there  was 
still  continued  riots  of  fever  in  his  brain,  and  in  the  terror 
brought  on  him  by  Storms  he  had  forgotten  all  the  rest. 
Indeed,  he  had  been  incapable  of  cool  reasoning  from  the 
first ;  but  his  affectionate  nature  acted  for  itself. 

Now,  when  the  pressure  of  doubt  regarding  his  own 
child  was  removed,  a  struggle  to  remember  events 
clearly  came  on,  which  threatened  to  excite  his  nerves 
into  continued  restlessness.  He  was  constantly  ponder 
ing  over  the  subject  of  that  attack,  and  the  morning  found 
him  dangerously  wakeful. 

"My  child." 

Ruth,  who  had  been  resting  in  an  easy-chair,  was  by 
his  side  in  an  instant. 

"  I  am  here,  father,  but  you  have  not  slept.  How 
bright  your  eves  are ! " 

"  Ruth,  have  I  been  out  of  my  head  again,  or  did  you 
say  something  in  the  night  that  lifted  the  stone  from  my 
heart?  Is  it  all  or  half  a  dream  ?" 

UI  told  you  only  the  truth,  father." 

"Ah,  but  that  truth  was  everything.  It  may  change 
everything." 

"Do  not  talk  so  eagerly,  father;  the  doctor  will  scold 
me  when  he  comes." 

"Let  him  scold.  You  have  done  me  more  good, 
child,  than  he  ever  can  ;  but  you  look  worn  out,  your 
eyes  have  dark  stains  under  them." 


198 

"  I  shall  be  better  now,"  answered  the  poor  girl,  turn 
ing  her  face  away. 

"Ah,  yes,  everything  will  turn  out  right  as  soon  as  I 
can  see  him.  Anyway,  my  lips  shall  never  tell  a  word 
of  it.  All  the  courts  in  the  world  could  not  draw  that 
out  of  me.  He  thought  I  was  doubting  him — that  I 
meant  to  harm  him,  may  be.  Youth  is  so  quick  to  act — 
so  quick ! " 

"  Oh,  father,  did  he— did  he  do  it?"  cried  Ruth,  with 
a  quick,  passionate  outburst. 

"  Have  I  not  said  that  nothing  should  make  me 
answer  that,  lass  ?  No  one  shall  hurt  the  young  master 
with  my  help." 

Ruth  questioned  her  father  no  more.  His  words  had 
confirmed  her  worst  fears.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  all 
the  world  had  arrayed  itself  against  her  feeble  strength. 
But  one  ray  of  light  broke  through  her  troubles.  Her 
father  was  better.  He  evidently  believed  in  her.  The 
bitter  pain  had  all  gone  out  from  his  heart.  He  smiled 
upon  her  when  she  left  the  room,  and  tasted  of  the 
breakfast  she  prepared  for  him  with  something  like  a 
return  of  appetite. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

THE  BARMAID  OF  THE  TWO  RAVENS. 

"  ]ST°ESTON'S  REST"  had  its  village  lying  within 
J»^l  a  mile  of  the  park  gate,  mostly  inhabited  by  the 
better  sort  of  small  tradespeople,  with  laborers'  cottages 
scattered  here  and  there  on  the  outskirts,  with  more  or 
less  picturesqueness.  From  the  inhabitants  of  this  village 


BARMAID     OF    THE    TWO     RAVENS.      199 

and  a  large  class  of  thrifty  farmers,  tenants  on  the  estate, 
the  public  house  drew  its  principal  support. 

One  evening,  just  after  the  heir  of  "Xorston  Rest"  and 
its  gardener  were  taken  up  wounded  and  insensible  in 
the  park,  a  party  of  these  persons  was  assembled  in  the 
public  room,  talking  over  the  exciting  news.  Among 
them  was  young  Storms,  who  was  referred  to  and  called 
upon  for  information  more  frequently  than  seemed  pleas 
ant  to  him. 

"  How  should  I  know  ? "  he  said  ;  "  the  whole  affair 
happened  in  the  night.  There  wasn't  likely  to  be 
any  witnesses  but  the  young  heir  and  the  old  man 
himself.  Who  knows  that  it  wasn't  a  chance  slip  of 
the  trigger?" 

A  hoarse  laugh  followed  this  speech,  and  the  drink- 
ing-cups  were  set  down  with  a  dash  of  derision  as  one 
after  another  took  it  up. 

"A  chance  slip  of  the  trigger !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Who 
ever  heard  tell  of  a  gun  going  off  of  itself  and  killing 
two  men — one  at  the  muzzle  and  t'other  with  the  stock?" 
exclaimed  one.  "  Most  of  us  here  have  handled  a  gun 
long  enough  to  know  better  than  that.  Come,  come, 
Storms,  tell  us  summat  about  it,  for,  if  any  man  knows, 
it's  yoursel'." 

"  I,"  said  Dick,  lifting  both  hands  in  much  astonish 
ment,  while  his  face  gave  sinister  confirmation  of  the 
charge.  "  How  should  I  know  ?  What  should  bring 
me  into  that  part  of  the  park?" 

"  In  that  part  of  the  park — as  if  a  more  likely  place 
could  be  found  for  you.  Besides,  some  one  said  that 
you  were  out  that  very  night,  and  you  never  gave  the 
lie  to  it." 

"  Well,  and  if  I  was,  what  should  bring  me  to  the 


200  NORSTON'S    REST, 

cedars,  lying  straight  iii  the  way  between  *  The  Kest' 
and  Jessup's  cottage?  My  road  home  lay  on  the 
other  side." 

This  was  said  with  a  covert  smile,  well  calculated  to 
excite  suspicion  of  some  secret  knowledge  which  the 
young  man  was  keeping  back. 

"Did  you  order  more  wine,  sir?" 

Storms  half  leaped  from  his  chair,  but  sat  down  again 
instantly;  casting  a  swift  glance  at  the  barmaid,  who 
was  apparently  occupied  in  changing  some  of  the  empty 
bottles  for  others  that  were  full. 

"Judith  Hart!" 

The  name  had  almost  broken  from  his  lips,  but  he 
checked  it  promptly,  and  pushing  his  empty  glass  toward 
her,  looked  smilingly  in  her  face,  and  said, 

"  I  was  afraid  you  had  forgotten  me." 

There  was  a  subtle  thrill  of  persuasion  in  his  voice, 
Borne  meaning  far  deeper  than  his  words,  that  turned  the 
girl's  averted  look  to  his  own. 

"No,"  she  answered,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "it  is  not 
me  that  forgets." 

Dick  breathed  again ;  a  tone  of  reproach  had  broken 
through  the  hard  composure  of  her  first  speech.  In 
reaching  forth  his  cup  he  managed  to  touch  the  girl's 
hand.  She  drew  it  back  with  a  jerk,  and  flashing  a 
wrathful  glance  at  him  left  the  room. 

Meantime  the  conversation  had  been  going  on  among 
the  other  occupants  of  the  room. 

"  The  doctor  says  that  it  may  go  hard  with  Jessup. 
One  was  saying,  'the  ball  went  clear  through  him.'  As 
for  the  young  master — " 

"Ah,  he  will  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two.  There  was 
no  great  hurt;  nothing  but  a  blow  on  the  head,  which 


BARMAID     OF     THE     TWO     RAVENS.      201 

laid  him  out  stark  a  while,  and  left  him  crazy  as  a  loon ; 
but  that  is  nothing  like  a  hole  through  the  bodyj" 

"  If  Jessup  should  die,  now,"  said  another. 

"Why,  thei^  there  would  be  a  sharp  lookout  for  the 
murderer.  Now  Sir  Noel  will  have  nothing  done*" 

"There  may  be  a  reason  for  that/7  said  Storms,  coming 
forward,  and  speaking  in  a  sinister  whisper. 

The  man,  thus  addressed,  lifted  the  pewter  cup,  newly- 
filled  with  beer,  to  his  mouth  and  drank  deeply,  giving 
Dick  a  long,  significant  look  over  the  rim. 

"  Least  said  soonest  mended/'  he  answered,  in  a  low 
voice,  wiping  the  foam  from  his  lips.  "At  any  rate, 
where  the  family  up  there  is  concerned.  Sir  Noel  is  not 
likely  to  make  a  stir  in  the  matter;  and  as  for  Jessup — " 

"  Jessup  is  a  stubborn  fool,"  said  Storms,  viciously. 

"Not  if  Sir  Noel  makes  it  worth  his  while.  I  would 
rather  have  a  hundred  gold  sovereigns  in  my  pocket  any 
day  than  see  a  dashing,  handsome  youngster  like  one  we 
know  of  at  the  assizes;  though  it  would  be  a  rare  sight 
in  old  England." 

"Yes,  a  rare  sight.  A  rare  sight!"  said  Storms,  rub 
bing  his  thin  hands  with  horrid  glee.  "I  would  go 
half  over  England  to  see  it.  Only,  as  you  say,  old 
Jessup  loves  gold  better  than  vengeance.  If  he  had 
died  now — " 

"Why,  then,  there  would  be  no  evidence,  you  see." 

"Don't  you  be  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Storms,  "he  may 
die.  Men  don't  get  up  so  readily  with  bullet-holes 
through  them.  He  may,  and  then — " 

Here  the  young  man  took  his  wine  from  the  barmaid, 
and  began  to  sip  its  contents,  duop  by  drop,  as  if  it  had 
a  taste  of  vengeance  he  was  prolonging  to  the  utmost. 

The  girl  watched  him,  and  a'stfliatlfge  smile  crept  over 
her  mouth. 


202  NORSTON'S    REST. 


"Here,  drink  with  me,  lass,"  he  said,  holding  the 
glass  toward  her.  "Drink  with  me,  and  fill  again; 
there  is  enough  for  us  both." 

"2sb,"  said  the  girl,  pushing  the  glass  away;  "not 
here  or  now." 

Storms  saw  that  the  men  around  his  portion  of  the 
table  were  occupied,  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  swift,  low 
voice  : 

"When  and  where?" 

The  girl  gave  her  head  a  toss,  and  moved  down  the 
table,  casting  a  look  over  her  shoulder,  which  made  the 
young  man  restless  in  his  seat.  Directly  she  came  back, 
and  leaning  close  to  him,  while  her  hand  was  busy  with 
the  glasses,  whispered  sharply  : 

"  To-night,  after  the  house  is  closed,  I  want  to  see  you, 
face  to  face,  just  once  more." 

"That  will  do,"  whispered  Storms;  "and  a  nice  time  I 
shall  have  of  it,"  he  thought,  with  some  apprehension. 

"A  fine  lass  that,"  said  the  man  who  sat  nearest  him, 
as  the  barmaid  moved  across  the  room,  with  the  force 
and  rude  grace  of  a  leopardess.  Kin  to  the  mistress 
here,  isn't  she  —  a  cousin  ?" 

The  man  spoke  loud  enough  for  others  to  hear,  and 
followed  the  girl  with  bold,  admiring  eyes. 

Storms  answered  him  with  sneering  sarcasm.  He 
felt  this  to  be  imprudent,  but  could  not  suppress  the 
venom  of  his  nature,  even  when  his  heart  was  quaking 
with  terror. 

"  I  have  not  inquired  into  her  pedigree.  You  may 
be  more  interested.  She  is  a  little  out  of  my  level." 

He  was  about  to  say  more,  but  checked  himself,  and 
ended  his  speech  more  cautiously:  "If  she  has  kinsfolk 
here,  none  of  us  ever  heard  of  them." 


BARMAID    OF     THE    TWO     BAY  ENS.       203 

"  But  where  did  she  come  from  ?"  questioned  the  man, 
who  was  greatly  interested  in  the  singular  girl.  "  Such 
black  hair  and  eyes  should  be  of  a  strange  land.  There  is 
nothing  English  about  her  but  her  speech.  Look  at  her 
face;  the  color  burns  through  it  like  wine." 

"Now  that  she  looks  fierce,"  said  another,  "one  sees 
how  handsome  a  fiery  woman  can  be.  Some  one  has 
stirred  up  her  temper.  He  may  find  himself  the  worse 
for  it.  The  fellows  are  shy  of  angering  her,  take  my 
word  on  that.  She  has  a  quick  hand,  and  a  sharp 
tongue ;  but  her  bright,  comely  face  brings  customers 
to  the  house.  A  tidy  girl  is  the  new  one.  Only  keep 
the  right  side  of  her,  that's  all." 

Just  then  the  barmaid  came  back  into  the  room. 
There  was  something  in  her  appearance  that  might  have 
reminded  one  of  Ruth  Jessup,  could  the  soul  of  a  wild 
animal  have  harbored  in  the  form  of  that  beautiful  girl. 
The  same  raven  hair,  and  large  eyes ;  the  same  rich  com 
plexion,  joined  to  features  coarser,  sensuous,  and  capable 
of  expressing  many  passions  that  Ruth  could  not  have 
imagined.  As  she  stood,  with  a  sort  of  easy  grace,  the 
purely  physical  resemblance  was  remarkable ;  but  when 
she  moved  or  spoke,  it  was  gone.  Then  the  coarse 
nature  came  out,  and  overwhelmed  the  imagination. 

"Where  did  she  come  from?"  asked  Judith's  new 
admirer. 

"Better  ask  her  yourself,"  answered  Storms,  absolutely 
jealous  that  any  one  should  admire  the  beauty  he  had 
begun  to  loathe. 

"I  will,"  said  the  man,  and,  leaving  the  table,  he 
approached  Judith  with  a  jaunty  exhibition  of  gal 
lantry,  which  she  received  with  a  cold  stare,  and,  turning 
from  him,  walked  back  into  the  bar. 


204  N  O  R  S  T  O  N 

Storms  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  followed  the  girl  into 
her  retreat.  Even  in  that  brief  interval  he  had  arranged 

O 

his  plan  of  action,  and  carried  it  out  adroitly.  The 
girl  knew  that  he  was  coining,  and  stood  there,  like  a 
leopard  in  its  den,  ready  to  fight  or  be  persuaded,  as  her 
heart  swayed  to  love  or  resentment. 

"This  is  madness;  it  is  cruel  to  your  old  father — hard 
on  me.  Twice  have  I  been  to  the  house,  and  found  it 
empty." 

The  fire  went  out  of  Judith's  face.  Bewildered,  baffled 
and  ready  to  cry,  she  turned  away  with  a  gesture  that 
Storms  took  for  unbelief  of  what  was  indeed  a  glib 
falsehood. 

"  No  one  could  tell  me  where  to  look  for  you.  Of  all 
places  in  the  world,  how  could  I  expect  to  find  you 
here?" 

"  You  have  been  to  the  old  house  ?"  said  Judith.  "  Is 
this  true?  Tell  me,  is  it  the  truth ?" 

"The  truth  !"  repeated  Storms,  with  a  look  of  amaze 
ment.  "What  should  prevent  me  going  as  usual  ?" 

"Nothing  but  your  own  will.     Nothing  but — " 

"But  what,  Judith?" 

"  But  her — the  girl  that  lives  in  the  park  at  'Norston's 
Rest/  " 

"  That  story  again !  How  often  shall  I  be  called  upon 
to  tellyou  it  is  sheer  gossip?" 

"But  you  told  it  yourself  to  the  landlord  at  our 
village." 

"Not  as  a  fact;  but  amusing  myself  with  the  absurd 
things  that  are  said  about  one;  things  that  one  repeats 
and  laughs  about  with  the  first  man  he  meets." 

Judith  bent  her  eyes  downward;  their  proud  defiance 
was  extinguished ;  the  heaviness  of  repentant  shame  fell 


BARMAID     OF     THE     TWO     RAVEXS.         205 

upon  her.  Before  she  could  speak,  a  call  outside  startled 
them  both.  Storms  broke  off  the  interview  with  some 
hurried  snatches  of  direction. 

"Take  the  highway;  here  is  a  key  to  the  little  park- 
gate  ;  turn  to  the  left,  the  wilderness  lies  that  way.  In 
its  darkest  place  you  will  come  upon  a  lake.  There  is  an 
old  summer-house  on  the  bank :  I  will  be  there ;  if  not, 
wait  for  me.  You  will  not  mind  the  walk  ?  " 

"No,  no!" 

"Good-night,  then.7' 

Storms  said  this  and  was  gone.  Judith  went  back  to 
the  public  room.  There  the  company  had  fallen  into 
more  confidential  conversation. 

"No  wonder  the  young  man  is  put  about  so,"  said  one. 
"Old  Jessup  was  as  good  as  his  father-in-law,  and  of 
course  he  feels  it.  Then  there  is  a  story  going  that  the 
heir  was  over  sweet  on  pretty  Ruth,  the  daughter,  and 
that,  no  doubt,  has  made  more  bitterness.  For  my  part, 
I  think  the  young  man  bears  it  uncommonly  well." 

"  Uncommonly  well,"  answered  another.  "  This  poach 
ing  in  our  cottages,  whenever  a  young  face  happens  to 
grow  comely  there,  is  a  shame  that  no  man  should  put 
up  with.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Jessup  had  made  a 
stand  against  it,  and  got  a  bullet  through  him  for  inter 
fering.  Our  young  lords  make  nothing  of  putting  an  old 
man  aside  when  he  dares  to  stand  between  a  pretty 
daughter  and  harm.  But  see  how  the  law  waits  for  them. 
Had  it  been  Storms,  now,  he  would  have  been  in  jail, 
waiting  for  the  assizes.  Yet  who  could  have  blamed 
him?  The  girl  was  his  sweetheart,  and  a  winsome  lass 
she  is.  But  Storms  will  never  wed  her  now." 

"  Wed  her — as  if  the  young  gentleman  ever  thought 
of  it!"  said  Judith,  breaking  into  the  conversation. 


206  N  O  R  S  T  O  N  '  S     REST. 

"There  is  your  beer,  man;  let  it  stop  your  mouth  till 
more  sense  comes  into  it." 

The  man  laughed  and  cast  a  knowing  glance  at  his 
companions.  "  Hoity-toity  !  Lies  the  wind  in  that  quar 
ter  ?  "  he  said.  "  Well,  I  had  begun  to  suspicion  it." 

This  outburst  was  received  with  shouts  of  laughter, 
and  a  loud  rattling  of  pewter.  This  was  an  ovation  that 
the  landlady  liked  to  witness ;  for  half  the  value  of  her 
new  barmaid  to  the  public  house  lay  in  her  quick  wit 
and  saucy  expression.  Even  the  fierce  passions  into 
which  she  was  sometimes  thrown  amused  the  men  who 
frequented  that  room,  and  enticed  them  there  quite  as 
much  as  the  beer  they  drank. 

"One  thing  is  sure,"  said  Judith's  tormentor,  renewing 
the  conversation  with  keener  zest :  "  Storms  has  lost  a 
pretty  wife  and  a  good  bit  of  money  by  this  affray." 

Judith  turned  deadly  white,  and  specks  of  foam  flew 
to  her  lips. 

u Do  you  mean  that?" 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it." 

"  That  Richard  Storms  and  Ruth  Jessup  would  have 
been  wed  now,  if  this  affray  at  the  park  had  not  hap 
pened?  Is  that  what  you  mean  ?" 

"  Mean  ?  Why,  lass,  there  is  not  a  man  here  who 
does  not  know  it.  Ask  him,  if  you  can't  believe  us." 

"  I  will ! "  answered  the  girl,  between  her  wrhite  teeth. 
"  That  is  the  very  question  I  mean  to  put  to  liim  before 
the  sun  rises." 

These  words  were  uttered  in  a  voice  so  low  and  broken 
that  no  one  heard  it.  She  was  silent  after  that,  and  went 
about  her  work  sullenly. 


THE     OLD     LAKE     HOUSE.  207 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE     OLD     LAKE     HOUSE. 

park  at  "Norston's  ,Rest"  was  divided  by  a 
swift  stream  that  flowed  into  it  from  the  dis 
tant  uplands,  separating  the  highly  cultivated  portions 
from  the  wilderness.  Jessup's  cottage  was  within  the 
pleasure  grounds,  but  its  upper  windows  overlooked  a 
small  but  deep  lake,  formed  by  a  ravine,  and  the  hollows 
of  a  rocky  ledge,  which  made  an  almost  bottomless  gulf, 
into  which  the  mountain  stream  emptied  itself,  and  after 
losing  half  its  volume  in  some  underground  outlet  glided 
off  down  the  valley. 

Nothing  could  be  more  wild  and  picturesque  than  this 
little  lake,  embosomed,  as  it  was,  with  thrifty  evergreens, 
fine  old  trees,  and  rocks,  to  which  the  ivy  clung  in 
luxuriant  draperies.  At  its  outlet,  where  the  sun  shone 
most  of  the  day,  wild  hyacinths  and  mats  of  blue  violets 
empurpled  the  banks  before  they  appeared  in  any  other 
place,  and  a  host  of  summer  flowers  kept  up  the  blossom 
season  sometimes  long  after  leaf-fall.  Near  this  spot, 
the  brightest  of  all  the  wilderness,  stood  an  old  summer- 
house,  built  by  some  former  lord  of  "The  Rest."  Jessup 
had  trained  wild  roses  among  the  ivy  that  completely 
matted  the  old  building  together,  and  around  its  base  had 
allowed  the  lush  grasses  to  grow  uncut,  casting  their 
seed,  year  by  year,  until  the  most  thrifty  reached  to  the 
balustrades  of  a  wooden  balcony  that  partly  overhung 
the  lake  in  its  deepest  part. 

Nothing  could  be  more  picturesque  than  this  old  build 
ing,  when  the  moon  shone  down  upon  and  kindled  up 


208  XORSTON'S    REST. 

the  waters  beneath  it,  with  a  brightness  more  luminous 
than  silver.  The  shivering  ivy,  the  flickering  shadows 
of  a  great  tree,  that  drooped  long,  protecting  branches 
over  it,  formed  a  picture  that  any  artist  would  have  got 
up  at  midnight  to  look  upon.  Still  a  more  practical  man 
might  have  pronounced  its  old  timbers  unsafe,  and  its 
position,  half  perched  on  a  bank,  with  its  balcony  over 
the  water,  dangerous  as  it  was  picturesque. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  two  persons  stood  within  this  build 
ing,  after  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  revealed  by  the  same 
moon  that  looked  down  on  those  two  wounded  men,  now 
struggling  for  life  in  the  proud  old  mansion  and  the 
humble  cottage.  It  was  curved  like  the  blade  of  a  sickle 
then.  Now,  its  rounded  fulness  flooded  the  whole  wilder 
ness,  breaking  up  its  darkness  into  massive  shadows,  all  the 
blacker  from  contrast  with  the  struggling  illumination. 

The  waterfall  at  the  head  of  the  lake  was  so  far  off 
that  its  noise  gave  no  interruption  to  the  voices  of  these 
two  persons  when  they  met,  for  Storms  had  arrived 
earlier  than  the  girl,  and  lay  apparently  asleep  on  one  of 
the  fixed  seats,  when  Judith  Hart  came  in,  breathless 
with  fast  walking,  and  gave  forth  sharp  expletives  of 
disappointment  when  she  supposed  the  summer-house 
empty. 

"Not  here.  The  wretch — the  coward  !  I  knew  it — I 
knew  it!  He  never  meant  to  come.  Does  he  think  I 
will  trapse  all  this  way,  and  wait  for  him?  If  I  do, 
may  I-  Ha!" 

The  girl  stopped  at  the  door,  through  which  she  was 
angrily  repassing,  with  the  invective  cut  short  on  her  lips. 

"  Hallo!  Is  it  you,  Judith?  I  began  to  think  you 
wasn't  coming,  and  dropped  asleep.  But,  upon  my  soul, 
I  was  dreaming  about  you  all  the  time." 


THE     OLD     LAIC  3     HOUSE.  209 

"  Here  you  are ! "  said  the  girl,  coming  slowly  back. 
"How  was  one  to  know — lying  there  like  a  log?  That 
isn't  the  way  one  expects  to  be  met  after  a  walk  like 
this!" 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?  The  walk  is  just  nothing 
for  an  active  girl  like  you,  but  I  hope  you  ha4  no  trouble 
in  getting  out." 

"Fve  had  trouble  in  everything;  nothing  but  trouble, 
since  I  first  knew  you,  and  I've  just  come  to  tell  you, 
that,  according  to  my  idea,  you  are  a  treasonable, 
traitorous — " 

"Judith  Hart!" 

"Cut  that  off  short.  I  come  here  to  have  my  say, 
and  nothing  more.  From  this  night  out  you  and  I  are 
two.  Remember  that.  I'm  not  to  be  taken  in  a  second 
time." 

Storms  arose  from  the  bench,  and  shook  himself,  as  if 
he  had  really  been  asleep. 

"What  on  earth  are. you  grumbling  about,  Judith 
Hart?  What  has  a  fellow  been  doing  since  nightfall 
that  you  come  down  upon  him  with  a  crash  like  this, 
after  keeping  him  on  the  wait  in  this  damp  hole  till  his 
limbs  are  stiff  as  ramrods ! " 

"They'll  be  stiffer  before  I'm  fool  enough  to  believe 
you  again,  you  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"Hoity-toity!  What's  the  row?  Who  has  forgotten 
to  fee  the  barmaid,  I  wonder?  Or  is  it  that  the  mis 
tress  begins  to  suspect  that  there  has  been  more  stealing 
out  than  she  knows  of,  or  I  either?" 

The  young  man  said  this  in  a  half-jeering  tone,  that 
drove  the  girl  wild. 

"You  say  that!  You  dare  to  say  that!"  drawing  her 
wrathful  face  close  to  his,  till  both  their  evil  countenances 
13 


210  NORSTON'S    REST. 

were  defined  by  the  moonlight.  "  I  tell  you  now  that 
such  words  are  as  much  as  your  life  is  worth." 

Storms  laughed,  sunk  both  hands  into  the  pockets  of 
liis  velveteen  jacket,  and  laughed  again,  leaning  against 
the  wall  of  the  old  summer-house. 

"There,  there,  Judith!  Enough  of  that!  I  don't 
want  to  be  tempted  into  doing  you  a  harm ;  far  from  it. 
But  neither  man  nor  woman  must  threaten  Dick  Storms. 
No  one  but  a  lass  he  is  sweet  upon  would  dare  do  it." 

"Dare!     I  like  that!" 

"  But  I  don't  like  it.  Once  for  all,  tell  me  what  this 
is  all  about." 

"You  know,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  it  is  everywhere 
about  that  you  were  plighted  to  the  girl  up  yonder  when 
her  father  was  hurt." 

"But  you  know  that  there  isn't  a  word  of  truth  in  it." 

"Not  true!  Not  true!  Oh,  Eichard,  I  have  seeu 
with  my  own  eyes." 

Judith  lifted  her  finger  threateningly,  and  shook  it 
close  to  the  young  man's  face. 

"Well,  what  have  you  seen?"  questioned  Dick,  a  little 
hoarsely;  and  even  in  the  moonlight  the  girl  could  detect 
a  slow  pallor  stealing  over  his  face. 

"  I  have  been  at  the  inn  yonder  longer  than  you  know 
of,"  she  said.  "  This  isn't  the  first  time  I've  been  in  the 
park  at  night." 

He  started  back  a  pace,  then  turned  upon  her.  The 
cunning  of  his  nature  rose  uppermost;  he  spoke  to  her 
low  and  earnestly. 

"Then  you  must  know  that  I  don't  want  the  lass,  and 
wouldn't  take  her  at  any  price,  though  I  don't  care  to 
say  that." 

"  Perhaps  you  deny  going  to  the  gardener's  cottage 
at  all?" 


THE     OLD      LAKE     HOUSE.  211 

"No,  I  don't.  Why  should  I?  If  you  were  watch 
ing  me,  so  much  the  better.  I  wish  you  had  listened  to 
every  word  I  said  to  her;  hating  her  as  you  do,  it  would 
have  done  you  good,  and  set  all  this  nonsense  at  rest." 

"But  you  went?" 

"Yes,  I  went," 

"And— and— " 

"And  told  her,  then  and  there,  that  nothing  should 
force  me  to  wed  her.  She  had  set  the  old  man  and  the 
young  master  to  nagging  me  about  it.  Neither  they  nor 
she  gave  me  an  hour's  peace." 

"Oh,  Richard  !  Richard  !     Is  this  true?" 

"But  for  my  love  of  you,  I  might  have  given  in — " 

"  I  don't  care  that  for  such  love,"  cried  the  girl,  tear 
ing  a  leaf  of  ivy  from  a  spray  that  had  crept  through 
the  broken  window,  and  dashing  it  to  the  floor.  "  I 
want  you  to  love  me  better  than  all  the  world  beside. 
No  halving.  I  want  that,  and  nothing  else." 

"And  haven't  you  got  it?  When  did  you  see  me 
walking  out  with  her,  or  meeting  her  here  like  this?" 

"She  wouldn't  come." 

"Wouldn't  she?" 

Storms  laughed  as  he  repeated  the  audacious  insinua 
tion,  "Wouldn't  she?" 

Judith  threw  off  her  defiant  attitude,  and  the  sharp 
edge  left  her  speech,  which  became  almost  appealing. 

"Richard  Storms!     Was  it  for  my  sake?" 

"  I  won't  answer  you ;  you  don't  deserve  it,  suspicion- 
ing  a  fellow  like  that." 

"  I  am  sorry." 

"Yes,  after  pushing  me  on  to — to  anything  rather 
than  be  nagged,  at  home  and  up  yonder,  about  wedding 
the  girl,  you  come  here,  when  I  expected  a  pleasant 


212  STORSTON'S    REST. 

meeting,  with  your  scolding  and  threats.  It's  enough  to 
drive  a  man  into  marrying  out  of  hand." 

"  No,  no,  Dick  !     You  wouldn't  do  that." 

"  I  don't  know." 

"You  don't  know?*' 

"If  you  ever  try  this  on  again,  I  may.  One  doesn't 
Btand  threats,  even  from  the  sweetheart  he  loves  better 
than  everything  else — that  is,  if  he  is  a  man  worth 
having." 

"  But  I  didn't  threaten  you !     I  only—" 

"Said  what  you  must  never  say  again,  if  you  don't 
want  to  see  me  wedded  down  in  yon  church,  with  a  farm 
of  my  own,  and  a  fortune  waiting,  which  they  are  will 
ing  to  pay  down,  and  ask  no  questions.  A  pretty  lass 
pining  for  me  too." 

"  Pretty  !  Oh,  Richard,  this  is  too  bad  !  You  have 
told  me  a  hundred  times  that  of  the  two,  I  was — 

The  girl  broke  off  and  turned  away  her  face. 

"And  I  have  told  you  the  truth,  else  they  would  have 
had  me  fast  before  this.  Both  the  young  master  and  the 
old  man  were  threatening  me  with  the  law.  You  might 
have  heard  them." 

"No.     I  was  never  near  enough." 

"  Well,  they  did,  though ;  and  but  for  you,  I  might 
have  given  in." 

"  But  you  never — never  will !  " 

"  So  long  as  you  keep  quiet,  I'll  stand  out." 

"  Oh,  Hichard,  no  mouse  was  ever  so  quiet  as  I  will 
be.  Now,  say,  was  it  all  for  my  sake  ?  " 

"What  else  could  it  be?" 

"I  don't  know.  Only  it  is  so  strange.  And  Richard  ! 
Richard  !  I  will  die  before — You  understand — I  would 
die  rather  than  harm  vou." 


THE     OLD      LAKE     HOUSE.  213 

"That  is  my  own  brave  lass.  Now  you  are  like 
yourself,  and  we  can  part  friends — better  friends  than 
ever." 

"  Part !    It  is  not  so  late." 

"But  the  moon  is  up,  and  you  will  be  seen  by  the 
village  people'.  They  must  have  no  jibes  to  cast  on  my 
wife  when  you  and  I  are  wed." 

The  girl's  eyes  flashed  in  the  moonlight,  which  came 
broadly  through  a  glass  door  that  led  upon  the  old 
wooden  balcony. 

A  smile  crept  over  Storms'  subtle  lips.  He  was  rather 
proud  of  his  victory  over  this  beautiful  Amazon.  The 
brilliant  loveliness  of  her  face  in  the  softening  light  was 
so  like  that  of  Ruth  Jessup,  that  he  astonished  the  hand 
some  virago  by  taking  her  head  between  his  hands,  and 
kissing  her  with  something  like  tenderness. 

His  heart  recoiled  from  this  caress  the  next  moment, 
as  the  prodigal  son  may  have  loathed  the  husks  he  eat, 
when  he  was  famishing  for  corn ;  but  Judith  sat  down 
upon  the  hard  wooden  seat,  and  covering  her  face  with 
both  hands,  broke  into  a  passion  of  delicious  tears. 

This  outbreak  of  tenderness  annoyed  the  young  man, 
who  was  hating  himself  for  this  apostacy  from  the  only 
pure  feeling  that  had  ever  ennobled  his  heart,  and  he 
said,  almost  rudely, 

"Come,  come,  there  is  nothing  to  cry  about;  I  am 
sorry,  that's  all." 

"Sorry!"  repeated  the  girl,  lifting  her  happy,  tearful 
face  into  the  moonlight.  "Ah,  well,  I  will  go  home,  now. 
Good-night,  if  you  will  not  go  with  me  a  little  way." 

"  We  must  not  be  seen  together,"  answered  Richard, 
opening  the  door  for  her  to  pass  out;  "only  remember, 
I  have  trusted  you." 


214 

The  girl  went  to  the  door,  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
stepped  back. 

"Will  you  kiss  me  again,  Richard ?  It  shall  be  the 
seal  of  what  I  promised." 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  girl,"  said  Dick,  stooping  his  head 
that  she  might  kiss  him.  "You  women  are  all  alike; 
give  them  an  inch  and  they  will  take  an  ell.  There, 
there;  good-night." 

Storms  stood  behind  the  half-open  door,  and  watched 
the  barmaid  as  she  took  the  little  path  which  led  to  the 
postern  gate  which  Ruth  had  used  on  the  morning  of  her 
wedding-day.  A  key  to  this  gate  had  been  intrusted  to 
the  young  man,  and  he  had  duplicated  it  for  the  girl 
who  had  just  left  him. 

"When  Judith  was  quite  beyond  his  vision,  Storms 
retired  back  into  the  summer-house,  and  examined  it 
with  strange  scrutiny.  There  was  but  one  window,  a 
single  sash  that  opened  into  the  balcony,  answering  for  a 
second  door,  which  was  quite  sufficient  to  light  the  little 
apartment.  Through  this  window  the  moonlight  fell 
like  a  square  block  of  marble,  barred  with  shadows.  To 
Storms  it  took  the  form  of  a  tombstone  lying  at  his  feet, 
and  he  stepped  back  with  a  sort  of  horror,  as  if  some  evil 
thought  of  his  had  hardened  into  stone  which  he  dared 
not  tread  upon ;  going  cautiously  around  it,  and  gliding 
along  the  wall,  but  with  his  eyes  turned  that  way,  he 
escaped  from  the  building. 


THE     NEW     LEASE.  215 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE     NEW     LEASE. 

i  NOEL,  farmer  Storms  is  here,  wanting  to  see 
you  about  something  important,  he  says." 

Sir  Noel  Hurst  was  sitting  in  his  library,  looking  and 
feeling  more  like  his  old  self  than  he  had  done  for  days. 

"I  will  see  him  presently,"  he  said,  almost  smiling, 
"but  not  quite  yet.  Tell  him  to  wait." 

The  servant  retired,  and  Sir  Noel  began  to  walk  tip 
and  down  the  room,  rubbing  his  white  hands  in  a  gentle, 
caressing  way,  as  if  some  joyous  feeling  found  expression 
in  the  movement.  The  physician  had  just  left  him,  with 
an  assurance  that  the  son  and  heir  for  whose  life  he  had 
trembled  was  now  out  of  danger.  He  had  heard,  too, 
that  William  Jessup  was  slowly  improving,  and  the 
burden  of  a  fearful  anxiety  was  so  nearly  lifted  from  his 
heart  that  he  saw  the  fair  form  of  Lady  Rose  coming 
through  the  flower-garden,  beneath  his  window,  with  a 
smile  of  absolute  pleasure.  A  flight  of  stone  steps  led  to 
the  balcony  beneath  the  window,  and  the  young  lady 
lingered  near  them,  looking  up  occasionally,  as  if  she 
longed  to  ascend,  but  hesitated. 

"  Sweet  girl  !  Fair,  noble  girl,"  thought  Sir  Noel,  as 
he  looked  down  upon  the  lovely  picture  she  made, 
standing  there,  timid  as  a  child,  with  a  glow  of  freshly- 
gathered  flowers  breaking  through  the  muslin  of  her 
over-skirt,  which  she  used  as  an  apron.  "  God  grant 
that  everything  may  become  right  between  them,  now." 

Sir  Noel  stepped  to  the  window  with  these  thoughts  in 
his  mind,  and  beckoned  the  young  lady  to  come  up. 


216  NOESTOX'S     BEST* 

She  caught  a  glance  of  his  face,  and  her  own  brightened, 
as  if  a  cloud  had  been  swept  from  it.  She  came  up  the 
steps  swiftly,  and  paused  before  the  window,  which  Sir 
Noel  flung  open. 

"  I  saw  the  doctor,  but  dared  not  question  him.  You 
will  tell  me,  Sir  Noel ;  but  I  feel  what  the  news  is. 
You  would  not  have  called  me  had  it  been  more  than  I 
— than  we  could  bear." 

"  I  would  not,  indeed,  dear  child.  God  knows  if  I 
could  endure  all  this  trouble  alone,  it  would  not  be  so 
hard." 

"  I  have  been  down  yonder  every  day,  Sir  Noel ;  so 
early  in  the  morning,  sometimes,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the 
poor  flowers  were  weeping  with  me.  Oh,  how  often  I 
have  looked  up  here  after  the  doctors  went  away,  hoping 
that  you  would  have  good  news,  and  notice  me ! " 

"  I  saw  you,  child,  but  had  no  heart  to  make  you 
more  sorrowful." 

"Did  you  think  him  so  fearfully  dangerous,  then?" 
questioned  the  lady,  with  terror  in  her  blue  eyes.  "  I 
tried  to  persuade  myself  that  it  was  only  my  fears. 
Every  morning  I  came  out  and  gathered  such  quantities 
of  flowers  for  his  room,  but  he  never  once  noticed  them, 
or  me — " 

"  You  !     Have  you  seen  him,  then  ?" 

A  flood  of  crimson  swept  that  fair  face,  and  the  white 
lids  drooped  over  the  eyes  that  sunk  beneath  his. 

"No — no  one  else  could  arrange  the  flowers  as  he  liked 
them.  Once  or  twice — but  only  when  his  eyes  were 
closed.  I  never  once  disturbed  him." 

"Dear  child,  how  he  ought  to  love  you !  " 

Sir  Noel  kissed  the  crimson  forehead,  which  drooped 
down  to  the  girl's  uplifted  hands,  aud  he  knew  that  the 


THE     NEW     LEASE.  217 

flush,  which  had  first  been  one  of  maiden  shame,  was 
deepened  by  coming  tears. 

"There,  there,  my  child,  we  must  not  grieve  when  the 
doctors  give  us  hope  for  the  first  time.  He  is  sleeping, 
they  tell  me,  a  calm,  natural  sleep.  Go,  and  arrange 
these  flowers  after  your  own  dainty  fashion.  He  will 
notice  them  when  he  awakes.  Already  he  has  called  the 
doctor  by  name." 

"  Oh,  uncle  !  dear,  dear  guardian,  is  it  so?" 
The  girl  fell  upon  her  knees  by  a  great  easy-chair  that 
stood  by,  and  the  blossoms,  no  longer  supported  by  her 
hand,  fell  in  glowing  masses  around  her  as  she  gave  way 
to  such  happy  sobs  as  had  never  shaken  her  frame  before. 
At  last  she  looked  up,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

"Is  it  really,  really  true?"  she  questioned,  shaking 
the  drops  from  her  face. 

"  Go,  and  see  for  yourself,  Rose." 
"  But  he  might  awake,  he  might  know.'7 
"  That  an  angel  is  in  his  room  ?     Well,  it  will  do  him 
no  harm,  nor  you  either." 

Lady  Rose  looked  down  at  the  flowers  that  lay  scat 
tered  around  her,  and  gathered  them  into  the  muslin 
of  her  dress  again.  She  was  smiling,  now,  yet  trem 
bling  from  head  to  foot.  Would  he  know  her?  Would 
the  perfume  of  her  flowers  awaken  some  memory  in  his 
mind  of  the  days  when  they  had  made  play-houses  in 
the  thickets,  and  pelted  each  other  with  roses,  in  childish 
warfare?  How  cold  and  distant  he  had  been  to  her  of 
late!  Would  he  awake  to  his  old  self?  Would  she  ever 
be  able  to  approach  him  again  without  that  miserable 
shrinking  sensation  ? 

"Sir  Noel,"  she  said,  "I  think  my  own  father  would 
never  have  been  so  kind  to  me  as  you  are." 


218  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,  child,  for  that  was  what  I 
promised  him  on  his  death-bed.  That  and  more,  which 
God  grant  I  may  be  able  to  carry  out." 

"  I  cannot  remember  him/'  said  Lady  Rose,  shaking 
her  head,  as  if  weary  with  some  mental  effort. 

"  No ;  he  left  us  when  you  were  a  little  child.  But 
we  must  not  talk  of  this  now." 

"I  know!  I  know!  Just  a  moment  since  I  was  in 
such  haste.  Now  I  feel  like  putting  it  off.  Isn't  it 
strange?" 

Sir  Noel  understood  better  than  that  fair  creature 
herself  the  significance  of  all  these  tremors  and  hesita 
tions.  Now  that  his  first  fears  were  at  rest,  they  both 
touched  and  amused  him,  and  a  smile  rose  to  his  lips 
as  she  glided  from  the  room,  leaving  a  cloud  of  sweet 
odors  behind  her. 

Into  this  delicate  perfume  old  farmer  Storms  came  a 
few  minutes  after,  looking  stolid,  grim,  and  clumsily 
awkward.  The  nails  of  his  heavy  shoes  sunk  into  the 
carpet  at  every  step,  and  his  fustian  garments  contrasted 
coarsely  with  the  rich  cushions  and  sumptuous  draperies 
of  the  room. 

"  Well,  Sir  Noel,  I've  come  about  the  new  lease,  if 
youVe  no  objection.  I  want  your  word  upon  it ;  being 
o'er  anxious  on  the  young  man's  account." 

"  Why,  Storms,  has  there  been  any  disagreement 
between  you  and  the  bailiff?  It  has  always  been  my 
orders  that  the  old  tenants  should  have  preference  when 
a  lease  dropped  in." 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  Sir  Noel,  it  isn't  so  much  the  lease 
itself  that  troubles  one ;  but  Dick  and  I  want  it  at  a 
lighter  rent,  and  we  would  like  a  new  house  on  the 
grounds  agin  the  time  when  the  lad  will  get  wed,  and 


THE     NEW     LEASE.  219 

want  a  roof  of  his  own.  That  is  vhat  we've  been  think 
ing  of,  Sir  Noel." 

"A  new  house?7'  said  Sir  Noel,  astonished.  "Why, 
Storms,  yours  is  the  best  on  the  place.  It  was  built  for 
a  dower  house." 

"Aye,  aye !  I  know  that ;  but  as  our  Dick  says,  no 
house  is  big  enough  or  good  enough  for  two  families. 
The  lad  is  looking  up  in  the  world  a  bit  of  late.  He 
means  to  take  more  land ;  that  is  why  I  come  about  the 
lease ;  and  we  shall  give  up  our  home  to  him  and  his 
wife." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Sir  Noel.  "  What  has  he  been  doing 
to  warrant  this  extraordinary  start  in  the  world  ?" 

"Something  that  he  means  to  keep  to  himself  yet 
a  while,  he  says,  but  it  is  sure,  if  things  turn  out  rightly. 
So  I  want  a  promise  of  the  lease,  and  all  the  other  things, 
while  the  iron  is  hot.  He  told  me  to  say  nothing  about 
it,  only  to  ask,  in  a  civil  way,  if  the  young  master  had 
come  to  his  senses  yet,  or  was  likely  to.  He  is  awful 
fond  of  the  young  master,  is  my  son,  and  sends  rne 
o'er,  or  comes  himself  to  the  lodge  every  day  to  hear 
about  him.  He  would  be  put  about  sorely  if  he  knew 
that  I  had  let  on  about  the  house  just  yet;  but  I  can  see 
no  good  in  waiting.  You  will  kindly  bear  it  in  mind 
that  we  shall  want  a  deal  more  than  the  lease.  Dick 
says  he's  sure  to  have  it,  one  way  or  another ;  and  a  rare 
lad  for  getting  his  own  will  is  our  Dick." 

There  was  something  strange  in  the  extravagance  of 
this  request,  that  made  the  baronet  thoughtful.  He  felt 
the  stolid  assumption  of  the  old  man,  but  did  not  resent 
it.  Some  undercurrent  of  apprehension  kept  him  pru 
dent.  He  only  replied  quietly, 

"  Well,  Storms,  the  lease  is  not  out  yet.     There  is 


220  NORSTON'S    REST. 

plenty  of  time,"  and,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  dismissed 
the  old  man. 

In  the  hall  Storms  was  astonished  to  find  his  son 
waiting,  apparently  careless,  though  his  eyes  gleamed 
with  suppressed  wrath.  He  followed  the  old  man  out, 
and  once  under  the  shelter  of  the  park,  turned  upon 
him. 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  there?" 

"  Nothing,  Dick !  Only  asking  after  the  young 
master,  and  talking  a  bit  with  the  baronet." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

SHARPER     THAN     A     SERPENT'S     TOOTH. 

"VTOUNG  STORMS  was  very  restless  after  his  mid 
night  interview  with  Judith  Hart,  and  became 
feverishly  so  when  he  discovered  that  the  elder  Storms 
had  begun  to  move  in  his  affairs  more  promptly  than  he 
desired.  He  walked  on  by  the  old  farmer  with  a  frown 
on  his  face,  and  only  spoke  when  his  own  footsteps  bore 
him  ahead  of  the  stronger  and  more  deliberate  stride, 
which  goaded  his  impatience  into  anger.  There  was, 
indeed,  a  striking  contrast  between  the  two  men,  which 
even  a  difference  in  age  could  not  well  account  for.  Old 
Storms  was  a  stoutish  man,  round  in  the  shoulders, 
slouching  in  his  walk,  and  of  a  downcast  countenance,  in 
which  a  good  deal  of  inert  ability  lay  dormant.  There 
was  something  of  the  son's  cunning  in  his  eye,  and 
animal  craving  about  the  mouth,  but  if  the  keen  venom 
which  repulsed  you  in  the  younger  man  ever  existed  iu 


TOOTH.  221 

the  father,  it  had  become  too  sluggish  for  active  wicked 
ness,  except,  perhaps,  as  the  subordinate  of  some  more 
powerful  nature. 

That  nature  the  old  man  had  fostered  in  his  own 
family,  of  which  Richard  was  the  absolute  head,  before 
he  became  of  legal  age.  If  the  old  man  had  been  a 
tyrant  over  the  boy,  as  many  fathers  of  his  class  are  sup 
posed  to  be  in  the  mother  land,  Richard  avenged  his 
youth  fully  when  it  merged  into  manhood.  As  the  two 
walked  together  across  the  park,  toward  their  own  farm, 
it  was  pitiful  to  see  such  gleams  of  anxiety  in  that  old 
man's  eyes,  whenever  they  were  furtively  lifted  to  the 
stern  face  of  the  son. 

Once,  when  Dick  got  ahead  of  his  father,  walking 
swiftly  in  his  wiry  activity,  he  paused,  and  cut  a  sapling 
up  by  the  roots  with  his  heavy  pruning-knife,  and  stood, 
with  a  grim  smile  on  his  face,  trimming  off  the  small 
branches,  and  measuring  it  into  a  slender  walking-stick. 

"Art  doing  that  for  me,  lad?"  said  the  old  man,  in  a 
voice  that  did  not  sound  quite  natural.  "Nay,  nay,  I 
am  not  old  enough  for  a  stick  yet  a  while.  My  old  bones 
aren't  so  limber  as  thine,  maybe;  but  they'll  do  for  me 
many  a  year  yet,  never  fear." 

The  young  man  made  no  answer,  but  smiled  coldly, 
as  he  shook  the  sapling  with  a  vigor  that  made  the  air 
whistle  around  him.  Then  he  walked  on,  polishing  up 
the  knots  daintily  with  his  knife  as  he  moved. 

"More'n  that,"  continued  the  old  man,  eying  his  son 
wistfully ;  "  there  isn't  toughness  enough  there  for  a 
walking-stick,  which  should  be  something  to  lean  on." 

"  It'll  do,"  answered  Dick,  closing  his  knife,  and  thrust 
ing  it  deep  into  his  pocket.  "  It'll  do,  for  want  of  a 
better." 


222  NOES  TON'S    REST. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  old  man,  so  hoarsely  that  his 
voice  seemed  to  break  into  a  timid  bark.  "  That  was 
what  I  used  ter  say  when  you  were  a  lad,  and  I  made 
you  cut  sticks  to  be  lathered  with.  Many  a  time  the 
twig  that  you  brought  wouldn't  hurt  a  dormouse.  Ah, 
lad,  lad,  you  were  always  a  cunning  one." 

"  Was  I  ?  "  said  Dick.  "  Well,  beating  begets  cunning, 
I  dare  say." 

By  this  time  they  were  getting  into  the  thick  of  the 
wilderness,  a  portion  of  the  park  little  frequented,  and  in 
which  the  lonely  lake  we  have  spoken  of  lay  like  a  pool 
of  ink,  the  shadows  fell  so  blackly  upon  it. 

Here  Richard  verged  out  of  the  usual  path,  and  struck 
through  the  most  gloomy  portion  of  the  woods.  After  a 
moment's  hesitation,  the  old  man  followed  him,  mutter 
ing  that  the  other  path  was  nearest,  but  that  did  not 
matter. 

When  the  two  had  left  the  lake  behind  them,  Richard 
stopped,  and  wheeling  suddenly  around,  faced  his  father. 

"  Now,  once  for  all,  tell  me  what  took  you  to '  The  Rest ' 
this  morning;  for,  mark  me,  I'm  bound  to  know." 

"  I — I  have  told  ye  once,  Dick.     I  have — " 

"A  lie.     You  have  told  me  that,  and  nought  else." 

"  Dick,  Dick,  mind,  it's  your  father  you  are  putting 
the  lie  on,"  said  the  old  man,  kindling  up  so  fiercely  that 
his  stooping  figure  rose  erect,  and  his  eyes  shone  beneath 
their  heavy  brows  like  water  under  a  bank  thick  with 
rushes. 

"What  took  you  up  yonder,  I  say?"  was  the  curt 
answer.  "I  want  the  truth,  and  mean  to  have  it  out  of 
you  before  we  go  a  stride  farther.  Do  you  understand, 
now?" 

"  I  went  to  ask  after  the  young  maister,"  was  the  sul 
len  reply. 


TOOTH.  223 

"  The  truth  !  I  will  have  the  truth— so  out  with  it, 
before  I  do  you  a  harm ! " 

"  Before  ye  do  your  old  father  a  harm !  Nay,  nay,  lad, 
it  has  no  come  to  that." 

Dick  bent  the  sapling  almost  double,  and  let  it  recoil 
with  a  vicious  snap,  a  significant  answer  that  kindled  the 
old  man's  wrath  so  fiercely  that  he  seized  upon  the  of 
fending  stick,  placed  one  end  under  his  foot,  and  twisted 
it  apart  with  a  degree  of  fury  that  startled  the  son  out  of 
his  sneering  insolence. 

"Now  what  hast  got  to  say  to  your  father,  Dick? 
Speak  out ;  but  remember  that  I  am  that,  and  shall  be 
till  you  get  to  be  the  strongest  man." 

The  thin  features  of  Richard  Storms  turned  white,  and 
his  eyes  shone.  He  had  depended  too  much,  it  seemed, 
on  the  withering  influence  his  insolent  overbearance  had 
produced  on  the  old  man,  whose  will  and  strength  had  at 
last  been  aroused  by  the  audacious  threat  wielded  in  that 
sapling.  Whether  he  really  would  have  degraded  the 
old  farmer  with  a  blow  or  not,  is  uncertain ;  but,  once 
aroused,  the  stout  old  man  was  more  than  a  match  for  his 
son,  and  the  force  of  habit  came  back  upon  him  so  pow 
erfully,  that  he  began  to  roll  up  the  cuffs  of  his  fustian 
jacket,  as  if  preparing  for  an  onset. 

"  Say  out  what  there  is  in  you,  and  do  it  gingerly,  or 
you'll  soon  find  out  who  is  rnaister  here,"  the  old  man 
said,  with  all  the  rough  authority  of  former  times. 

The  young  man  looked  into  his  father's  face  with  a 
glance  made  keen  by  surprise.  Then  his  features  re 
laxed,  and  he  burst  into  a  hoarse  laugh. 

"  Why,  father,  did  you  think  I  was  about  doing  you 
a  harm  with  that  bit  of  ash  ?  It  was  for  a  goad  to  the 
cattle  I  was  smoothing  it  off." 


224 

"Ah  !  "  ejaculated  the  old  man. 

"  But  you  have  twisted  it  to  a  wisp  now." 

"  That  I  have,  and  rare  glad  I  am  of  it." 

"  It  don't  matter,"  said  the  son.  "  I  can  find  plenty 
more  about  here.  But  the  thing  we  were  talking  of. 
Did  Sir  Noel  kick  in  the  traces  when  ye  came  down  upon 
him  about  the  lease?" 

A  gleam  of  the  young  man's  own  cunning  crept  into 
the  father's  eyes. 

"  The  lease,  Dick  ?  Haven't  I  said  it  was  the  young 
maister's  health  that  took  me  to  'The  Rest?'" 

Richard  made  a  gesture  that  convulsed  his  whole 
frame,  and,  jerking  one  hand  forward,  exclaimed, 

"  It  was  for  .your  own  good,  father,  that  I  asked ;  so  I 
don't  see  why  you  keep  things  so  close." 

"An'  I  don't  know  why  a  child  of  mine  should  ask 
questions  of  his  own  father  like  a  schoolmaster,  or  as  if 
he  were  ready  for  a  bout  at  fisticuffs,"  answered  the  old 
man. 

"  It's  a  way  one  gets  among  the  grooms  and  game 
keepers  ;  but  it  means  nothing,"  was  the  pacific  answer. 
"  I  was  only  afraid  you  might  have  dropped  a  word  about 
what  I  told  you  of,  and  that  would  have  done  mischief." 

"Ah!"       , 

"Just  now,  father,  half  a  word  might  spoil  every 
thing." 

"Half  a  word!  "Well,  well,  there  was  nought  said 
that  could  do  harm.  Just  a  hint  about  the  lease,  nothing 
more.  There,  now,  ye  have  it  all.  A  fair  question  at 
the  first  would  ha'  saved  all  this  bother." 

"Are  you  sure  this  was  all?"  asked  the  young  man, 
eying  his  father  closely. 

"Aye.     Sure. 


TOOTH.  225 

"  Hush  !     One  of  the  gamekeepers  is  coming." 

"Aye,  aye." 

Old  Storms  moved  forward,  as  the  intruder  came  up 
with  a  pair  of  birds  in  his  hands,  which  he  was  carrying 
to  "  The  Rest." 

Richard  remained  behind,  for  the  man  met  him  with 
a  broad  grin,  as  if  some  good  joke  were  on  his  mind. 

"  Good-morrow  to  ye,"  he  said,  dropping  the  birds  upon 
a  bed  of  grass,  as  if  preparing  for  a  long  gossip. 

"  Dost  know  I  came  a  nigh  peppering  thee  a  bit  yon 
night,  thinking  it  war  some  .poachers  after  the  birds ;  but 
I  soon  found  out  it  was  a  bit  of  sweet-hearting  on  the  sly? 
Oh,  Dick,  Dick!  thou'lt  get  shot  some  night." 

"Swecthearting!  I  don't  know  what  you  mean, 
Jacob." 

"Ye  don't  know  that  there  was  a  pretty  doe  roving 
about  the  wilderness  one  night  this  week,  just  at  the  time 
ye  passed  through  it?" 

"Me,  me?" 

"Aye.  No  mistake.  I  saw  ye  with  my  own  eyes  in 
the  moonlight." 

"In  the  moonlight?     Where?" 

"Oh,  in  the  upper  path,  nearest  thy  own  home." 

Richard  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Ah,  that!     I  thought  you  said  by  the  lake." 

"Nay,  it  was  the  lass  I  saw,  taking  covert  there." 

"  What  lass  ?     I  saw  none ! " 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  gamekeeper,  placing  a  hand  on 
each  knee,  and  stooping  down  to  look  into  his  com 
panion's  eyes.  "  What  war  she  there  for,  then  ?  Tell 
me  that." 

"How  should  I  know?" 

"And  what  wert  thou  doing  in  the  wilderness?" 
14 


226 

"What,  I?  Passing  through  it  like  an  honest  Chris 
tian,  on  my  way  home  from  the  village." 

"  Well,  now,  that  is  strange  !  Dost  know,  I  got  half 
a  look  at  the  doe's  face,  and  dang  me !  if  I  didn't  think 
it  was  Jessup's  lass." 

A  quick  thought  shot  through  that  subtle  brain.  Why 
not  accept  the  mistake,  throw  the  reputation  of  the  girl 
who  had  scorned  him  into  the  power  of  this  man,  and 
thus  claim  the  triumph  of  having  cast  her  off  when  the 
certainty  of  her  final  rejection  came?  After  a  moment's 
silence,  and  appearing  to  falter,  he  said  : 

"You — you  saw  her,  then?  You  know  that  it  was 
Ruth  Jessup?" 

"Ha  !  ha!  Have  I  run  ye  to  covert?  Yes,  I  a'most 
saw  her  face;  an'  as  to  the  figure,  any  man,  with  half  an 
eye,  would  know  that.  There  isn't  another  loike  it  within 
fifty  miles  o'  <  The  Rest?  " 

"  Well,  well,  Jacob,  as  you  saw  her  and  me  so  close, 
I'll  not  deny  it.  A  lass  will  get  fractious,  you  know, 
when  a  fellow  is  expected,  and  don't  come  up  to  time, 
and  follow  one  up,  you  understand.  We  have  been 
sweethearting  so  long,  and  the  old  ones  being  agreeable, 
perhaps  she  is  a  trifle  over  restless  about  my  hanging 
back." 

"Aye,  aye.  This  story  about,  the  young  maister  being 
o'er  fond  of  her.  I  wouldn't  put  up  with  that." 

Storms  nodded  his  head  mysteriously. 

"  You'll  say  nothing  about  her  coming  to  seek  me  that 
night." 

"In  course  not.  Only  I  wouldn't  a  thought  it  of 
Jessup's  lass,  she  looks  so  modest  like." 

"  But  when  a  lass  is — is — " 

"  O'er  fond,  and  afraid  of  losing  her  sweetheart.  Still, 
I  wouldn't  a  thought  it  of  her  anyhow." 


TOOTH.  227 

"You're  not  to  think  hard  of  her  for  anything,  friend 
Jacob,  because  we  may  be  wed  after  all,  and  no  one  must 
have  a  fling  at  ray  wife,  mind  that.  When  I  give  her 
up  will  be  time  enough." 

The  gamekeeper  laughed,  and  nodded  his  head,  perhaps 
amused  at  the  idea  that  a  bit  of  gossip,  like  that,  could 
escape  circulation,  in  a  place  already  excited  on  the  sub 
ject  of  Jessup  and  his  daughter.  Storms  having  given 
the  impression  he  desired,  took  a  watch  from  his  pocket, 
and  glanced  at  the  dial. 

"  It's  wonderful  how  time  flits,'7  he  said,  putting  the 
watch  back.  "  It's  near  dinner-time,  and  the  old  man 
will  be  waiting.  Mind  that  you  keep  a  close  mouth. 
Good-day  ! " 

"  Good-day  ter  ye,'7  responded  the  gamekeeper,  picking 
up  his  birds,  and  smoothing  their  mottled  feathers  as  he 
went  along.  "  I  wouldn't  a  thought  it  of  yon  lass, 
though,  not  if  the  parson  himself  had  told  rne.  That  I 
wouldn't." 

Meantime  young  Storms  walked  toward  home,  smiling, 
nay,  at  times,  laughing,  as  he  went.  The  cruel  treachery 
of  his  conversation  with  the  keeper  filled  him  with  vicious 
delight.  He  knew  well  enough  that  the  whole  subject 
would  be  made  the  gossip  of  every  house  in  the  village 
within  twenty-four  hours,  and  revelled  in  the  thought. 
If  it  were  possible  for  him  to  marry  Ruth  in  the  end,  this 
scandal  would  be  of  little  importance  to  him ;  if  not,  it 
should  be  made  to  sting  her,  and  poison  the  returning  life 
of  young  Hurst.  Under  any  circumstances,  it  was  an  evil 
inspiration,  over  which  he  gloated  triumphantly. 

So  full  was  the  young  plotter's  brain  of  this  idea,  that 
he  was  unconscious  of  the  rapidity  with  which  he 
approached  home,  until  the  farm-house  hove  in  view,  a 


228 

long,  stone  building  sheltered  by  orchards,  flanked  by 
outhouses,  and  clothed  to  the  roof  with  rare  old  ivy.  It 
was,  in  truth,  something  better  than  a  common  farm- 
dwelling,  for  an  oriel  window  jutted  out  here,  a  stone 
balcony  there,  and  the  sunken  entrance-door  was  of  solid 
oak ;  such  as  might  have  given  access  to  "  The  Rest " 
itself. 

There  had  been  plenty  of  shrubbery,  with  a  bright 
flower-garden  in  front,  and  on  one  side  of  the  house ;  but 
of  the  first,  there  was  only  a  scattering  and  ragged  bush 
left  to  struggle  for  life,  here  and  there,  while  every  sweet 
blossom  of  the  past  had  given  way  to  coarse  garden 
vegetables,  which  were  crowded  into  less  and  less  space 
each  year,  by  fields  of  barley  or  corn,  that  covered  what 
had  once  been  a  pretty  lawn  and  park. 

"Ah,  if  I  could  but  get  this  in  fee  simple.  If  he  had 
died  I  might ! "  thought  the  young  man,  as  he  walked 
round  to  the  back  door.  "  If  he  had  only  died  ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE     SICK     MAN     WRITES     A     LETTER. 

TTTILLIAM  JESSUP  seemed  to  be  getting  better 
*  V  rapidly  after  those  few  words  with  Ruth,  that 
had  lifted  a  mountain  of  pain  from  his  heart,  pain  deeper 
and  keener  than  the  biting  anguish  of  his  wound,  or  the 
fever  which  preyed  upon  him  continually,  though  he 
scarcely  felt  it,  now  that  the  anguish  of  mind  was  gone. 

"I  shall  be  better,  I  shall  be  quite  well,  only  let  me 
get  one  word  to  him.     He  is  so  rash.     Ah,  when  that  is 


THE    SICK    MAX    WRITES    A    LETTER.    229 

done,  I  can  rest  a  little/7  he  kept  thinking  to  himself, 
for  the  subject  seemed  so  distasteful  to  Ruth  that  he 
shrunk  from  naming  it  to  her.  "  If  the  old  man  Storms 
would  but  come,  I  might  trust  him ;  but  he  always  sends 
that  lad,  who  frightens  Ruth.  Poor  child,  poor  child  !" 

Ruth  was  sitting  by  her  father's  bed  when  these 
thoughts  possessed  him,  and  broke  out  in  a  tremulous 
exclamation,  his  eyes  fastened  tenderly  on  her. 

"What  is  it,  father?  What  are  you  thinking  of? 
Nothing  ails  me.  I  must  not  be  pitied  at  all  while  you 
are  ill,  or  only  because  of  that.  What  are  you  thinking 
about?" 

"  Only  this,  Ruthy.  Don't  let  it  bother  yon,  though. 
Only,  if  I  could  get  a  word  to  the  young  master — " 

Ruth  shrunk  visibly  from  the  anxious  eyes  bent  upon 
her,  but  forced  herself  to  answer,  calmly, 

"If  I  could  see  him  one  minute,  alone.  Oh,  if  I 
could/'  she  said,  clasping  the  hands  in  her  lap  till  the 
blood  fled  from  them,  "but  it  would  be  of  no  use  trying." 

All  at  once  Jessup  rose  from  his  pillow,  but  leaned 
back  again,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Put  another  pillow  under  my  head,  and  prop  me  tip 
a  bit.  I  will  write  a  line  with  my  own  hand.  I  won 
der  we  never  thought  of  it  before.  Bring  me  a  pen,  and 
the  ink-bottle.  The  big  Bible,  too,  from  yon  table.  It 
will  be  all  the  better  for  that." 

Ruth  obeyed  him  at  once.  Why  had  she  never  thought 
of  this?  Surely  a  letter  could  be  got  to  that  sick-cham 
ber  without  danger.  That,  at  least,  would  relieve  her 
father's  anxiety,  and  remind  Hurst  of  her. 

Why  had  she  never  thought  of  it  before  ?  That  was 
not  strange ;  Jessup  was  no  letter  writer,  and,  save  a  few 
figures,  now  and  then,  Ruth  had  not  seen  him  use  a  pen 


230 

half  a  dozen  times  in  her  life.  It  seemed  a  marvel  to 
her  even  then  that  he  should  undertake  so  unusual  a  task. 

The  girl  had  a  pretty  desk  of  her  own,  otherwise  a 
supply  of  ink  and  paper  might  have  been  wanting.  As 
it  was,  she  brought  both  to  her  father's  bed,  and  arranged 
the  great  Bible  before  him,  that  he  might  use  them  at 
once. 

At  any  time  it  would  have  been  a  severe  task  that  the 
gardener  had  undertaken;  but  now  his  weak  fingers 
shook  so  fearfully  that  he  was  compelled  to  lay  the  pen 
down  at  every  word,  almost  in  despair.  But  the  great 
heart  gave  his  hand  both  strength  and  skill.  After 
many  pauses  for  rest,  and  struggles  for  breath,  a  few 
lines  were  written,  and  this  was  what  they  said : 

"MY  DEAR  YOUNG  MASTER: — Have  no  fear  about 
me.  I  have  sworn,  in  soul,  before  Almighty  God,  to 
keep  all  that  is  within  me  a  secret  forever.  No  law  and 
no  blame  shall  ever  reach  you  through  me.  Oh,  that  my 
eyes  had  been  struck  blind  before  they  saw  your  face 
that  night,  when  you  shot  me  down !  I  would  have 
groped  in  darkness  to  my  grave,  rather  than  have  seen 
what  I  did.  Sometimes  I  think  it  must  have  been  all 
a  dream.  But  it  haunts  me  so — it  haunts  me  so.  Your 
father  saved  my  life  once.  Maybe  I  am  saving  his  now. 
I  hope  so.  Do  not  fear  about  me.  I  shall  not  be  more 
silent  in  death  than  I  am  in  life.  WILLIAM  JESSUP." 

Many  a  misspelt  word  did  this  short  epistle  contain. 
Many  an  uncouth  letter  that  linked  sentences  running 
riot  with  each  other;  but  the  spirit  of  a  high  resolve  was 
there,  and  the  good  man  exhausted  the  little  strength  left 
to  him  in  writing  it. 


THE    SICK    MAN    WHITES    A     LETTER.     231 

"  You  will  seal  this/7  he  whispered,  hoarsely,  giving 
her  the  paper  to  fold  and  direct.  "  Some  one  will  take 
it  to  him." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go.  He  shall  get  it.  How,  I  do  not 
know ;  but  if  he  is  well  enough  to  read  it,  the  paper  shall 
reach  him." 

"And  no  one  else.     Remember  that." 

"  I  will  remember.  Oh,  father,  what  is  this  terrible 
thing?" 

"  Be  silent,  Ruth.     I  will  not  have  you  question  me." 

"  Forgive  me,  father." 

"Yes,  yes." 

The  poor  man  spoke  in  painful  gasps.  The  old  Bible 
seemed  to  bear  him  down  ;  he  struggled  under  the  weight, 
but  could  not  remove  it. 

Ruth  lifted  the  book  in  her  arms,  settled  the  pillows 
under  her  father's  head,  and  would  have  stayed  by  him, 
but  he  motioned  her  away. 

Oh,  how  precious,  yet  how  perilous  that  paper  seemed 
to  the  poor  girl !  He  would  touch  it.  His  eyes  would 
follow  the  jagged  lines.  They  would  bring  assurance  of 
safety  to  him.  He  might  even  guess  that  she  had  been 
the  messenger  through  whom  it  had  reached  him.  She 
did  not  understand  the  meaning  of  this  important  scrawl. 
With  regard  to  that,  her  mind  was  swayed  by  vague  un 
certainties,  but  she  knew  that  it  was  pacific,  and  intended 
for  good. 

Ruth  tied  on  her  bonnet,  and  set  forth  for  "The  Rest" 
at  once,  with  the  precious  letter  in  her  bosom,  over  which 
she  folded  her  scarlet  sacque  with  additional  caution. 

"  Perhaps — perhaps  I  shall  see  him.  It  might  have 
meant  nothing,  after  all.  He  could  not  be  so  false. 
Lady  Rose  is  like  a  sister  to  him,  that  is  all!  I  am  so 


232  NORSTON'S    REST. 

foolish  to  care;  so  very,  very  foolish.  But,  then,  how 
can  I  help  it?" 

The  day  was  so  beautiful,  that  such  hopeful  thoughts 
came  to  Ruth  with  the  very  atmosphere  she  breathed. 
The  birds  were  singing  all  around  her,  and  a  thousand 
summer  insects  filled  the  air  with  music.  Coming,  as 
she  did,  from  the  close  seclusion  of  a  sick-room,  all  these 
things  thrilled  her  with  fresh  vigor.  Her  step  was  light 
as  she  walked.  The  breath  melted  like  wine  on  her  red 
lips.  Once  or  twice  she  paused  to  snatch  a  handful  of 
violets  from  the  grass,  and  drank  up  their  perfume 
thirstily. 

At  last  she  came  out  into  the  luxurious  beauty  of  the 
pleasure-grounds  close  to  "  The  Rest,"  and  from  thence, 
looked  up  to  the  window  where  her  young  husband  lay, 
all  unconscious  of  her  coming.  Perhaps  she  had  hoped 
that  he  might  be  well  enough  to  sit  up.  Certainly,  when 
she  saw  no  one  at  the  window,  her  heart  sunk,  and  a 
deep  sigh  escaped  her.  It  would  not  do  to  be  found 
there  by  any  of  the  household.  She  felt  that,  and  bent 
her  steps  towards  the  servants7  entrance,  heavy-hearted 
and  irresolute. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

WITH     THE     HOUSEKEEPER. 

THE  housekeeper  was  more  than  usually  busy  that 
day,  but  she  greeted  her  favorite  with  affectionate 
warmth.  "You  there,  my  poppet,"  she  said,  seating 
herself  for  a  talk.  "I  have  been  wondering  why  you 
kept  away  so  long,  now  that  the  doctors  tell  me  that 
your  father  is  coming  round." 


WITH     THE     HOUSEKEEPER.  233 

"I  wished  to  come,  godmother.  Indeed,  I  never 
stopped  thinking  about  you  here ;  but  there  is  no  one  to 
stay  by  father  when  I  leave  him,  and  he  needs  care." 

"  Of  course  he  does,  and  something  else  as  well.  I 
was  just  putting  up  a  bottle  or  two  of  our  choice  old 
Madeira,  with  some  jellies,  and  the  cook  is  roasting  a 
bird,  which  he  must  eat  with  the  black  currant-jelly, 
remember.  We  must  build  your  father  up,  now,  with 
nice,  strengthening  things.  They  would  do  you  no 
harm,  either,  child.  Why,  how  thin  and  worried  you 
look,  Ruth !  This  constant  nursing  will  break  you  down. 
We  must  send  over  one  of  the  maids,  to  help." 

"No,  no;  I  can  do  very  well.  Father  is  used  to  me, 
you  know.  Only,  if  you  wish  to  be  kind — " 

"  Wish  to  be  kind  ?  Did  I  ever  fail  in  that,  god 
daughter?" 

"  Did  you  ever  ?  Indeed,  no.  Only  I  am  always 
asking  such  out-of-the-way  things." 

"  Well,  well.     What  is  it,  now  ?" 

"I  have  a  letter  from  my  father  to — to  the  young 
master." 

"  From  your  father  ?  "When  did  he  ever  write  a  letter 
before,  I  wonder?  And  he  sick  in  bed?  A  letter — " 

"  That  I  want  to  deliver  into  Wai —  into  Mr.  Hurst's 
own  hands,  if  you  will  only  help  me,  godmother." 

"  Into  his  own  hands  ?•  As  if  any  other  trusty  person 
wouldn't  do  as  well,"  said  the  housekeeper,  discontentedly. 

"But  I  should  not  be  so  certain,  godmother." 

"Ah,  true.     Is  the  letter  so  important,  then?" 

"I — I  don't  know,  exactly.  Only  father  was  very 
particular  about  it." 

"  Well,  give  me  the  letter.    I  will  see  that  he  gets  it  safe." 

Ruth  still  pressed  her  hand  against  her  bosom,  and  a 
look  of  piteous  disappointment  broke  into  her  eyes. 


234  HOUSTON'S    BEST. 

"  Is  he  so  very  ill,  then?  Might  I  not  just  see  him 
for  a  minute,  and  take  the  answer  back?" 

"  The  young  master  is  better,  but  not  half  so  well  as 
he  strives  to  be.  I  never  saw  any  one  so  crazy  to  get 
out." 

"  Is  he— is  he,  though?" 

"And  about  your  father.  He  is  always  questioning 
me  if  I  have  heard  from  the  cottage." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Why,  child,  how  chirpish  you  speak,  all  at  once !  I 
hardly  knew  your  voice.  But  what  was  I  saying?  Ah, 
I  remember.  Yes,  yes!  The  young  master  scarcely  got 
back  his  speech  before  he  began  to  question  us  about 
Jessup,  whose  hurt  seems  to  wound  him  more  than 
his  own.  To  pacify  him  Lady  Eose  sent  round  every 


morning." 


"Lady  Rose!  Did  the  messengers  come  from  her?" 
questioned  Ruth,  and  her  voice  sunk  again. 

"Of  course.  Sir  Noel,  in  his  trouble,  might  have 
forgotten ;  but  she  never  did.  Ah,  goddaughter,  that 
young  lady  is  one  in  a  thousand,  so  gentle,  so  lovely, 
so—" 

"  Yes,  yes  !     I  know — I  know ! " 

"  Such  a  match  as  they  will  make." 

Ruth  turned  very  pale;  still  a  singular  smile  crept 
over  her  lips.  She  said  nothing,  however,  but  walked 
to  a  window,  and  looked  out,  as  if  fascinated  by  the  rich 
masses  of  ivy  that  swept  an  angle  of  the  building  like 
black  drapery. 

"  How  the  ivy  thrives  on  that  south  wall ! "  she  said, 
at  last.  "  I  can  remember  when  it  was  only  a  stem." 

"  Of  course  you  can ;  for  I  planted  it  on  the  day  you 
were  born,  with  my  own  hands.  There  has  been  time 


WITH     THE     HOUSEKEEPER.  235 

enough  for  it  to  spread.     Why,  it  has  crept  round  to  the 
young  master's  window.     Pie  would  have  it  trained  that 


"  Godmother,  how  good  you  are  !  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  child.  Only  I  was  always  careful  of 
that  ivy.  Ruth's  ivy,  we  always  call  it,  because  of  the 
day  it  was  planted." 

"  Did  —  did  any  one  else  call  it  so?" 

"  Of  course,  or  the  young  master  would  never  have 
known  of  it.  'Let  me  have/  says  he,  'just  a  branch  or 
two  of  your  ivy  —  what  is  its  name,  now?  —  for  my  corner 
of  the  house/  Well,  of  course,  I  told  him  its  name,  and 
how  it  came  by  it,  which  he  said  was  a  pretty  name  for 
ivy,  or  any  other  beautiful  thing  ,  and  from  that  day  a 
thrifty  branch  was  trained  over  to  the  balcony  where  he 
sits  most,  and  sometimes  smokes  of  an  evening." 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Ruth,  breaking  into  smiles. 
"  Some  climbing  roses  are  tangled  with  it." 

"  True  enough  ;  they  throve  so  fast,  that  between 
them,  the  little  stone-steps  that  run  up  to  the  balcony 
were  hid  out  of  sight;  but  Lady  Rose  found  them  out, 
and  carries  her  flowers  that  way  from,  the  garden  when 
she  fills  the  vases  in  his  room." 

"  She  always  did  that,  I  suppose,"  said  Ruth,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Most  likely,"  answered  the  housekeeper,  carelessly, 
as  if  that  young  creature  did  not  hang  on  every  wrord  she 
uttered  with  unutterable  anxiety.  "Most  likely.  There 
is  little  else  that  she  can  do  for  him  just  now." 

"Does  he  need  so  very  mudi  help  now,  godmother?" 

"  None  that  a  dainty  young  lady  can  give;  but  when 
he  begins  to  sit  up,  her  time  will  come.  Then  she  will  sit 
and  read  to  him  from  morning  till  night,  and  enjoy  it  too." 


236  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"And  tire  him  dreadfully,"  muttered  Kuth,  with  a 
dash  of  natural  bitterness  in  her  voice. 

"  I  don't  know.  Anyway  I  shouldn't  care  about  it ; 
but  people  vary— people  vary,  Euth !  You  will  find 
that  out  as  you  get  along  in  life.  People  vary  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  answered  Ruth,  quite  unconscious 
of  speaking  at  all.  "  You  are  very  wise  in  saying  so." 

"Ah,  wisdom  comes  with  age ;  generally  too  late  for 
much  good.  If  one  could  have  it  now  in  the  wild-oat 
season ;  but  that  isn't  to  be  expected.  Speaking  of  Lady 
Rose,  here  comes  her  pony-carriage,  and  here  comes  her 
self,  with  Sir  Noel,  to  put  her  in.  Do  you  know,  Ruth, 
I  don't  think  the  master  has  been  quite  himself  since 
that  night.  There  is  an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes  that  I 
never  saw  there  before.  It  should  go  away  now  that 
Mr.  Walton  is  better,  but  somehow  it  don't." 

Ruth  did  not  answer.  She  was  looking  through  the 
window  at  the  group  of  persons  that  stood  near  a  pony- 
carriage,  perfect  in  all  its  equipments,  which  was  in  front 
of  the  house.  Lady  Rose,  who  had  come  down  the  steps 
leisurely,  side  by  side  with  Sir  Noel,  was  loitering  a 
little,  as  if  she  waited  for  something.  She  examined  the 
buttons  of  her  gloves,  and  arranged  her  draperies,  all  the 
while  casting  furtive  glances  up  to  a  window,  at  which 
no  one  seemed  to  appear,  as  she  had  hoped.  Sir  Noel, 
too,  glanced  up  once  or  twice,  rather  wistfully,  and  then 
Ruth  saw  that  his  face  did  indeed  wear  a  look  that  was 
almost  haggard. 

"Tell  me — tell  me!  Is  he  so  very  ill  yet,  that  his 
father  looks  like  that?"  cried  Ruth,  struck  by  a  sudden 
pang  of  distrust.  "  I  thought  he  was  getting  better." 

"And  so  he  is,  child.  Who  said  to  the  contrary?  But 
that  doesn't  take  the  black  cloud  out  of  his  father's 
face." 


UNDER    THE     IVY.  237 

"Then  he  really  is  better?" 

"  Better  ?     Why,  he  sat  up  an  hour  yesterday." 

"Did  he— did  he,  indeed?"  cried  Kuth,  joyfully. 
Did  he  really?" 

"  He  did,  really,  and  our  lady  reading  to  him  all  the 
time." 

"Ah!" 

"What  did  you  say,  child?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing  !  But  see,  they  are  both  going,  I 
think ! " 

The  housekeeper  swayed  her  heavy  person  toward  the 
window,  and  looked  out. 

"  Yes.  Lady  Rose  is  persuading  Sir  Noel,  who  can 
refuse  nothing  she  wants.  It  almost  seems  as  if  he  were 
in  love  with  her  himself." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  ! "  cried  Ruth,  eagerly. 

"  One  might  suspect  as  much,  if  one  did  not  know," 
answered  the  housekeeper,  shaking  her  head.  "Any 
way,  he  is  going  with  her  now,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  The 
ride  will  do  him  good.  Look,  she  drives  off  at  a  dashing 
pace." 


CHAPTER    XXXYI. 

UNDER     THE     IVY. 


T3UTH  needed  no  recommendation  to  watch  the  beau- 
-L  t  tiful  little  vehicle  that  flashed  down  the  avenue, 
a  perfect  nest  of  bright  colors,  over  which  the  sunlight 
shone  with  peculiar  resplendence,  while  the  spirited 
black  horse  whirled  it  out  of  sight. 


238 

"  Isn't  she  fit  for  a  queen  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Mason,  trium 
phantly,  as  she  wheeled  round,  and  sought  her  chair 
again. 

Ruth  heard,  but  did  not  answer.  A  man  was  passing 
across  the  lawn,  who  occupied  her  full  attention. 

"Isn't  that  Mr.  Webb?"  she  questioned. 

Mrs.  Mason  half  lifted  herself  out  of  the  chair  she  was 
always  reluctant  to  leave,  and  having  obtained  a  view  of 
the  man,  settled  back  again. 

"  Yes,  that  is  Webb;  and  I  say,  Ruth,  you  had  bettor 
follow,  and  give  him  that  letter.  He  will  be  going  back 
to  the  young  master's  room,  in  less  than  half  an  hour. 
He  only  leaves  it  to  get  a  mouthful  of  air  at  any  time. 
Your  letter  is  sure  of  a  safe  delivery  with  Webb." 

"  Thank  you — thank  you  !  It  will  be  best.  Good- 
morning,  godmother  !  good-morning !  " 

A  swift  clasp  of  two  arms  about  her  neck,  a  fluttering 
kiss  on  her  lips,  and  the  good  woman  was  left  alone, 
resting  back  in  her  easy-chair,  with  half-closed  eyes, 
while  a  bland  smile  hovered  over  her  plump  mouth. 

"What  a  loving  little  soul  it  is!"  she  muttered. 
"  Peaches,  ripe  for  preserving,  are  not  sweeter ;  and  as 
for  inward  goodness,  she  has  not  her  match  in  the  three 
kingdoms." 

Mrs.  Mason  might  not  have  been  quite  so  tranquil  had 
she  seen  Ruth  just  then,  for,  with  the  speed  of  a  lapwing, 
she  had  turned  an  angle  of  the  house,  where  her  own 
namesake,  the  ivy,  had  already  clambered,  wreathing  a 
carved  stone  balcony  with  its  greenness.  Scarcely  paus 
ing  to  breathe,  she  pushed  the  vines  aside,  and  treading 
some  of  the  tender  twigs  under  her  feet,  flew  up  the 
narrow  steps  which  were  but  just  made  visible  under  the 
wreathing  masses  of  foliage. 


UNDER     THE     IVY.  239 

"If  she  can  mount  them,  I  will  find  the  way,"  was 
her  swift  and  half-triumphant  thought,  "  Oh,  Heaven 
grant  that  the  window  is  unfastened  !  " 

Her  foot  was  on  the  carved  work  of  the  balcony ;  her 
scarlet  jacket  gleamed  through  the  plate-glass,  and  flashed 
its  vivid  red  through  the  clustering  ivy  leaves.  Breath 
less  with  excitement,  she  tried  the  window-sash  with  her 
hand.  It  gave  way,  and  swung  inward  with  a  faint  jar. 
She  was  in  the  room  with  her  husband,  yet  afraid  to 
approach  him.  There  he  was,  lying  upon  a  low  couch, 
wrapped  in  the  folds  of  an  oriental  dressing-gown,  and 
pillowed  on  a  cushion  of  silk,  embroidered  in  so  many 
rich  colors,  that  the  contrast  made  his  white  face 
ghastly. 

What  if,  after  all,  he  did  not  love  her?  What  if  he 
should  wake  up  alarmed,  and  made  angry  by  her  intru 
sion  ? 

There  is  no  feeling  known  to  a  woman's  heart  so  timid, 
so  unreasoning,  so  exacting,  as  love :  pride,  devotion, 
humility — a  dozen  contending  elements — come  into  action 
when  that  one  passion  is  disturbed,  and  it  would  be  rash 
ness  to  say  which  of  these  emotions  may  predominate  at 
any  given  time.  Perfect  confidence  either  in  herself  or 
the  creature  of  her  love  is  unusual  in  most  characters — 
impossible  in  some. 

Ruth  had  entered  that  room  full  of  enthusiasm,  ready- 
to  dare  anything;  but  the  sight  of  a  sleeping  man,  one 
that  she  loved,  too,  with  overpowering  devotion,  was 
enough  to  make  a  coward  of  her  in  a  single  moment. 
Still,  like  a  bird  fascinated  by  the  glittering  vibrations 
of  a  serpent,  she  drew  toward  the  couch,  and  bent  over 
the  sleeper,  holding  her  own  breath,  and  smiling  softly 
as  his  passed  over  her  parted  lips. 


240  NORS TON'S    REST. 

Ah,  how  pale  he  was !  How  the  shadows  came  and 
went  across  his  white  forehead  !  Was  he  angry  with  her 
even  in  his  sleep  ?  Did  he  know  how  near  she  was,  and 
resent  it  ? 

No,  no!  If  he  knew  anything  in  that  profound 
slumber,  the  knowledge  was  pleasant,  for  a  smile  stole 
over  his  face,  and  some  softly-whispered  words  trembled 
from  his  lips. 

"  My  darling  !  oh,  my  darling ! " 

Kuth  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  bed,  and  pressed 
both  hands  to  her  mouth,  thus  smothering  the  cry  of  joy 
that  rose  to  it.  Her  movements  had  been  noiseless  as  the 
flutter  of  a  bird — so  noiseless  that  the  sleeper  was  not 
disturbed.  After  a  while  she  lifted  her  head,  stole  her 
arms  timidly  over  that  sleeping  form,  and  dropped  a  kiss, 
light  as  the  fall  of  a  rose-leaf,  on  those  parted  lips. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,"  she  murmured,  in  sounds 
scarcely  louder  than  a  thought.  "  Look  at  me,  look  at 
me,  if  it  is  only  for  one  moment." 

Hurst  opened  his  eyes,  and  smiling  vaguely,  as  sick 
men  smile  in  dreams.  That  instant  a  noise  was  heard 
at  the  door,  footsteps  and  voices.  Ruth  snatched  the 
letter  from  her  bosom,  crushed  it  into  the  invalid's  hand, 
left  a  passionate  kiss  with  it,  and  fled  out  of  the  window, 
and  down  the  ivy-choked  steps.  There,  trembling  and 
frightened,  she  shrunk  into  an  angle  of  the  stone  window- 
case,  and  dragging  the  ivy  over  her,  strove  to  hide  her 
self  until  some  chance  of  escaping  across  the  garden 
offered.  She  had  left  the  sash  open  in  her  haste,  and 
could  hear  sounds  from  the  room  above  with  tolerable 
distinctness.  The  first  was  the  sharp  exclamation  of  a 
man's  voice.  He  seemed  to  be  walking  hurriedly  across 
the  room,  and  spoke  in  strong  remonstrance. 


UNDER     THE     IVY.  241 

"  What,  up,  Mr.  Walton,  trying  to  walk,  and  the  win 
dow  wide  open  upon  you  ?  What  will  the  doctor  say  ? 
What  shall  I  answer  to  Lady  Rose,  who  bade  me  watch 
by  you  every  minute,  till  she  came  back?" 

Some  faint  words,  in  a  voice  that  thrilled  poor  Ruth 
to  the  soul,  seemed  to  be  given  in  reply  to  this  expostula 
tion.  But,  listen  as  she  would,  the  meaning  escaped  her. 

Then  a  louder  voice  spoke  again. 

"Ah,  but  how  am  I  to  answer  to  her  ladyship,  or  Sir 
Noel,  either? 

"'Webb/  says  she,  'they  will  all  have  it  so.  I  must 
take  the  air,  or  be  shut  out  from  here  when  I  am  really 
most  needed.  But  you  will  not  leave  him?  There  must 
be  some  one  to  answer  when  he  speaks/ 

"  Well,  I  promised  her.  If  any  one  could  gainsay  a 
wish  of  my  Lady  Rose,  that  one  isn't  old  Webb.  But 
you  were  sleeping  so  sweetly,  sir,  and  I  knew  that  the 
first  word  would  be  about  Jessup :  so  I  ran  over  to  get 
the  news  about  him." 

Here  a  hurried  question  was  asked,  in  which  Ruth 
distinguished  her  own  name. 

"Nay,  nay.  The  girl  was  away  somewhere,  no  doubt, 
for  I  found  the  doors  locked,  and  could  get  no  sight  of 
any  one.  But  let  me  shut  this  window,  the  air  will  be 
too  cold." 

There  seemed  to  be  some  protest,  and  a  good-natured 
dispute,  in  which  the  sick  man  prevailed,  for  directly  the 
couch  on  which  he  lay  was  wheeled  up  to  the  window, 
and  Ruth  caught  one  glimpse  of  an  eager  face  looking 
out. 

The  girl  would  have  given  her  life  to  run  up  those 
steps  again,  and  whisper  one  word  to  the  man  whom  she 
felt  was  watching  for  her.  She  did  creep  out  from  her 
15 


242 

covert,  and  had  mounted  a  step,  when  Webb  spoke 
again. 

"  Nay,  nay,  sir.  This  will  never  do.  The  window 
must  be  closed.  An  east  wind  is  blowing." 

A  noise  of  the  closing  window  followed,  and  with  a 
sigh  Ruth  shrunk  back  to  her  shelter  against  the  wall, 
disappointed,  but  trembling  all  over  with  the  happiness 
of  having  seen  him. 

"What  cared  she  for  Lady  Rose  then?  Had  he 
not  looked  into  her  eyes  with  the  old,  fond  glance? 
Had  he  not  reached  out  his  arms  in  a  quick  passion 
of  delight  as  she  fled  from  him?  Was  he  not  her  hus 
band,  her  own,  own  husband  ? 

There,  in  the  very  midst  of  her  fright,  and  her 
newly-fledged  joy,  the  young  wife  drew  the  wedding- 
ring  from  her  bosom,  and  kissed  it,  rapturously  mur 
muring  : 

"  He  loves  me !  He  loves  me  !  and  what  else  do  I  care 
for?  Nothing,  nothing,  in  the  wide  wide,  world  !  " 

But  in  the  midst  of  this  unreasoning  outburst,  poor 
Ruth  remembered  the  father  she  had  left  a  wounded 
prisoner  in  the  cottage,  and  a  spasm  of  pain  shot  through 
her.  Ah,  if  she  were  sure,  if  she  were  only  sure  that 
no  secret  was  kept  from  her  there.  But  it  must  be 
right.  Some  great  misunderstanding  had  arisen  to  dis 
tress  her  father  beyond  the  pain  of  his  wounds.  But 
when  the  two  beings  she  most  loved  on  earth  were  well 
enough  to  meet  and  explain,  all  would  be  clear  and 
bright  again.  Her  husband  had  the  letter  safe  in  his 
hands.  She  would  go  home  at  once,  and  tell  her  father 
that,  and  afterward  steal  off  alone, 'and  feast  on  the  hap 
piness  that  made  her  very  breath  a  joy. 

Out,  through  the  rose-thickets,  the  clustering  honey- 


A     STORM     AT    THE    TWO     RAVENS.        243 

suckles,  and  the  beds  of  blooming  flowers,  Ruth  stole, 
like  a  bee,  overladen  with  honey,  and  carried  her  happi 
ness  back  to  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

A     STORM     AT     THE     TWO     RAVENS. 

"  TUDITH  HART,  will  ye  just  carry  the  ale-cans  a 

*-J  little  more  on  the  balance?  Can't  ye  mind  that 
the  foam  is  dripping  like  suds  over  yer  hands,  and 
wetting  the  sand  on  the  floor  till  it's  all  in  puddles?" 

This  sharp  remonstrance  came  from  the  mistress  of 
the  house  in  which  Judith  was  barmaid,  and  chief 
attraction.  The  public-room  was  crowded  that  night, 
not  only  with  its  old  guests,  but  by  strangers  on  their 
way  from  a  neighboring  town,  where  a  monthly  fair  was 
held.  The  girl  gave  her  head  a  toss,  as  this  reprimand 
pointed  out  her  delinquency,  and  sat  the  two  ale-cups 
she  carried  down  upon  the  nearest  table,  with  a  dash 
that  sent  both  foam  and  beer  running  over  it  in  ruddy 
rivulets. 

"  If  you're  not  pleased  with  the  way  I  serve  customers, 
there's  plenty  more  that  would  be  glad  of  doing  it  better. 
I'm  not  to  be  clamored  at,  anyway,  so  long  as  there's 
other  places  ready  for  me." 

"An'  a  pretty  prize  they'd  get !  "  rejoined  the  landlady, 
putting  her  hands  a-kimbo,  and  nodding  her  head  with 
such  angry  vehemence,  that  the  borders  of  her  cap  rose 
and  fluttered  like  the  feathers  of  a  rageful  bantam.  "  It's 
all  well  enough  while  there's  none  of  the  better-to-do 


244  NORSTON'S    REST. 

sort  wanting  to  be  served ;  but  when  they  come  !  Hoity- 
toity  !  My  lady  tosses  her  head  at  commoners,  and 
scorns  to  heed  the  knock  of  a  workman's  can  on  the 
table,  as  if  she  were  a  born  princess,  and  he  a  beggar.  I 
can  tell  ye  what,  lass,  this  wasn't  the  way  I  got  to  be 
mistress,  after  serving  from  a  girl  at  the  tap." 

"And  what  if  I  didn't  care  that  forever  being  mis 
tress  of  a  place  like  this!"  cried  Judith,  snapping  her 
fingers  over  the  dripping  cups,  and  shaking  her  own 
handsome  head  in  defiance  of  the  fluttering  cap,  with  all 
it  surmounted.  "As  if  I  didn't  look  forward  to  some 
thing  better  than  that,  though  I  have  demeaned  myself 
to  serve  out  your  stale  beer  till  I'm  sick  of  it." 

"Ah  !  ha  !  I  understand.  One  can  do  that  with  half 
an  eye,"  answered  the  irate  dame,  casting  a  glance  over 
at  young  Storms,  who  sat  at  one  of  the  tables,  sipping 
his  wine  and  laughing  quietly  over  the  contest.  "But 
have,  a  care  of  yourself.  It  may  come  about  that  chick 
ens  counted  in  the  shell  never  live  to  pip." 

Judith  turned  her  great  eyes  full  of  wrathful  appeal 
on  Storms,  and  burst  into  a  scornful  laugh,  which  the 
young  man  answered  by  a  look  of  blank  unconcern. 

"  You  hear  her  !  You  hear  her,  with  her  insults  and 
her  tyrannies;  sneering  at  me  as  if  I  was  the  dirt  under 
her  feet!"  the  girl  cried  out,  stamping  upon  the  sanded 
floor,  "  and  not  one  of  you  to  say  a  word." 

"  How  should  we?"  said  Storms,  with  a  laugh.  "It's 
a  tidy  little  fight  as  it  stands.  We  are  only  waiting  to 
see  which  will  get  the  best  of  it.  Who  here  wants  to 
bet?  I'll  lay  down  half  a  sovereign  on  the  lass." 

As  he  tossed  a  bit  of  gold  on  the  table,  Storms  gave 
the  barmaid  a  look  over  his  shoulder,  that  fell  like  ice 
upon  her  wrath.  She  shrunk  back  with  a  nervous  laugh, 


A     STORM     AT     THE     TWO     HAVENS.        245 

and  said,  with  a  degree  of  meekness  that  astonished  all 
in  the  room, 

"  Now,  I  will  have  no  betting  on  me  or  the  mistress 
here.  We  are  both  a  bit  fiery ;  but  it  doesn't  last  while 
a  candle  is  being  snuffed.  I  always  come  round  first ; 
don't  I  now,  mistress?" 

The  Jood-hearted  landlady  looked  at  the  girl  with 
open-mouthed  astonishment.  Her  color  lost  much  of  its 
blazing  red,  her  cap-borders  settled  down  with  placid 
slowness.  Both  hands  dropped  from  her  plump  waist, 
and  were  gently  uplifted. 

"Did  any  one  here  ever  see  anything  like  it  ?"  she  said. 
"  One  minute  flaring  up,  like  a  house  on  fire,  the  next, 
dead  ashes,  with  any  amount  of  water  on  'em.  I  do 
think  no  one  but  me  could  get  on  with  the  lass.  But  I 
must  say,  if  she  does  get  onto  her  high  horse  at  times, 
with  whip  and  spur,  when  I  speak  out,  she  comes  doAvn 
beautifully." 

"Don't  I?"  said  Judith,  with  a  forced  laugh,  gather 
ing  up  her  pewter  cups.  "But  that's  because  I  know 
the  value  of  a  kind-hearted  mistress — one  that's  good  as 
gold  at  the  bottom,  though  I  do  worry  her  a  bit  now  and 
then,  just  to  keep  my  hand  in.  If  any  of  the  customers 
should  take  it  on  'em  to  interfere,  he'd  soon  find  out  that 
we  two  would  be  sure  to  fight  in  couples." 

With  this  pacific  conclusion,  the  girl  gathered  up  a 
half  dozen  empty  cups  by  the  handles,  and  carried 
them  into  the  kitchen.  The  moment  she  was  out  of 
sight,  all  her  rage  came  back,  but  with  great  suppression. 
She  dashed  the  cups  down  upon  a  dresser  with  a  violence 
that  made  them  ring  again  ;  then  she  plunged  both  hands 
into  the  water,  as  if  that  could  cool  the  hot  fever  of  her 
blood,  and  rubbed  the  cups  furiously  with  her  palm,  thus 


246 

striving  to  work  off  the  fierce  energy  of  her  passion, 
which  the  studied  indifference  of  Storms  had  called  forth, 
though  its  fiercest  expression  had  fallen  on  the  landlady. 

"  I  woke  him  up,  anyway,"  she  thought,  while  a  short, 
nervous  laugh  broke  from  her.  "  He  got  frightened  into 
taking  notice,  and  that  is  something,  though  he  kills  me 
for  it.  Ah!'7 

The  girl  lifted  her  eyes  suddenly,  and  saw  a  face  look 
ing  in  upon  her  through  the  window.  His  face !  She 
dropped  the  cup,  dashed  the  water  from  her  hands,  and, 
opening  the  kitchen-door,  stole  out,  flinging  the  white 
apron  she  wore  over  her  head. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

A     PRESENT     FROM     THE     FAIR. 

Qt  TORMS  was  waiting  for  her  near  the  door,  where 
kJ  he  stood  in  shadow. 

"  Well,  now,  have  you  come  round  to  take  a  fling  at 
me?"  said  the  girl,  with  more  of  terror  than  anger  in 
her  voice.  "  If  you  have,  I  won't  bear  it,  for  you're  the 
one  most  to  blame,  coming  here  again  and  again,  without 
so  much  as  speaking  a  word,  though  ye  know  well 
enough  how  hungry  I  am  for  the  least  bit  of  notice." 

"This  way.  We  are  too  near  the  house,"  said  Storms, 
seizing  the  girl's  arm,  and  drawing  her  toward  the 
kitchen-garden,  that  lay  in  the  rear  of  the  building.  "  Let 
us  get  under  the  cherry-trees;  they  cannot  see  us  there." 

"  I  musn't  be  away  long,"  answered  the  girl,  subdued, 
in  spite  of  herself.  "  The  mistress  will  be  looking  for  me." 


A     PRESENT     FROM     THE     FAIR.          247 

"  I  know  that ;  so  we  must  look  sharp.     Come.'7 

Judith  hurried  forward,  and  directly  the  two  stood 
under  the  shadow  of  the  cherry-trees  sheltered  by  the 
closely-growing  branches. 

"  What  an  impatient  scold  you  are,  Judith  ! "  said  the 
young  man.  "  There  is  no  being  near  you  without  a 
fear  of  trouble.  What  tempted  you,  now,  to  get  into 
a  storm  with  the  mistress?" 

"  You  did,  and  you  know  it.  Coming  in,  without  a 
look  for  one,  and  saying,  as  if  we  were  a  thousand  miles 
apart,  'I  say,  lass,  a  pint,  half-and-half  mild,  now/" 

Judith  mimicked  the  young  man's  manner  so  viciously 
that  he  broke  into  a  laugh,  which  relieved  the  apprehen 
sions  which  had  troubled  her  so  much. 

"And  if  I  did,  what  then  ?  Haven't  I  told  you,  more 
than  once,  that  you  and  I  must  act  as  strangers  toward 
each  other?" 

"But  it's  hard.  What  is  the  good  of  a  sweetheart 
above  the  common,  if  one's  friends  are  never  to  know  it  ?  " 

"  They  are  to  know  when  the  time  comes ;  I  have  told 
you  so,  often  and  often.  But  what  is  a  man  to  do  when 
his  father  is  hot  for  him  marrying  another,  and  she  so 
jealous  that  she  would  bring  both  the  two  old  men  and 
Sir  Noel  down  on  me  at  the  least  hint  that  I  was  fond 
in  another  quarter  ?  " 

"But  when  is  it  to  end?     When  will  they  know?" 

"  Soon,  very  soon,  now.  Have  patience ;  a  few  weeks 
longer,  say,  perhaps  months,  and  some  day  you  and  I 
will  slip  off  and  be  wed  safe  enough.  Only  nothing 
must  be  said  beforehand.  A  single  word  would  upset 
everything.  They  are  all  so  eager  about  Jessup's  lass." 

"  I  can  keep  a  close  lip ;  you  know  that.  JSTo  matter 
if  I  do  get  into  a  tantrum  now  and  again ;  no  one  ever 


248  NORSTON'S   REST. 

heard  me  whisper  a  word  about  that.  You  under 
stand?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  No  girl  was  ever  safer,  but  we 
must  be  cautious,  very  cautious.  I  mustn't  come  here 
often.  It  is  too  trying  for  your  temper." 

"  It  is.  I  agree  to  that.  The  sight  of  you  sitting  in 
the  public,  so  calm  and  cold,  drives  me  mad." 

"  Tli en  I  must  not  come." 

"  Oh,  Richard  !     I  can't  live  without  seeing  you." 

"  You  shall  see  me,  of  course.  I  couldn't  endure  my 
life  without  seeing  you.  But  it  must  be  over  yonder. 
You  understand  ?  You  might  be  seen  coming  or  going. 
Some  one  did  see  you  in  the  wilderness  the  other  night, 
and  thought  it  was  Jessup's  daughter." 

"  Did  he  ?  Yes,  every  one  says  I  look  like  her.  Now, 
I  like  that." 

"  So  do  I.  It  just  takes  suspicion  off  you,  and  puts  it 
on  her.  Won't  the  whole  neighborhood  be  astonished 
when  she  is  left  in  the  lurch,  knowing  how  she  follows 
me  up?" 

"  Oh,  Richard,  what  a  wonderful  man  you  are  ! "  said 
Judith,  wild  with  delight.  "  Yes,  I  will  be  so  sly  that 
they  never  can  find  me  out." 

"They  never  shall.  I  mean  to  make  that  sure.  See 
what  I  have  brought  you  from  the  fair." 

Here  Storms  unrolled  a  parcel  that  he  had  left  under 
the  cherry-trees  before  entering  the  house  that  evening, 
and  cautiously  stepping  into  the  light  of  a  window,  un 
folded  a  scarlet  sacque  and  some  dark  cloth,  such  as  com 
posed  the  usually  picturesque  dress  of  Ruth  Jessup. 

"Oh,  are  these  for  me?"  cried  the  girl,  in  an  ecstasy 
of  delight.  "How  soft  and  silk-like  it  is!  Oh, 
Bichard!" 


A     PRESENT     FROM     THE     FAIR.  249 

"  For  you !  Of  course ;  but  only  to  be  worn  when 
you  come  up  yonder ! " 

"Oh  I" 

"  That  is,  till  after  we  are  wed.  Then  you  shall  wear 
such  things  every  day  of  the  week,  with  silk  dresses  for 
Sunday.  But,  till  then,  don't  let  a  living  soul  see  one 
of  these  things.  Keep  'em  locked  up  like  gold,  and  only 
put  them  on  when  you  come  to  the  lake  at  night,  re 
member.  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  that  any  man  or 
woman  should  see  how  like  a  queen  they  will  make  you 
look  till  they  will  have  to  say,  at  the  same  time,  she  is 
Richard  Storms'  wife." 

"  Oh,  how  sorry  I  am  for  having  that  bout  with  the 
mistress ! "  said  Judith,  hugging  the  bundle  which  he 
surrendered  to  her  as  if  it  had  been  a  child  she  loved. 

"  But  you  must  promise  me,  on  your  life,  on  your 
soul,  to  keep  my  fairing  a  close  secret." 

"  I  will !     I  will ! " 

"  Without  that  to  lay  the  whole  thing  on  Jessup's 
daughter  with,  it  wouldn't  be  safe  for  you  to  come  to 
the  park.  The  mistress  would  turn  you  away,  if  she 
heard  of  it.  Then  where  should  we  land?" 

"  I  will  be  careful.     Believe  me,  I  will." 

"  Especially  about  the  dress." 

"  I  know.     I  will  be  careful." 

"  Judith !     Judith  Hart ! " 

"  Hush  !  The  mistress  is  calling ! "  whispered  Judith. 
"  It  is  time  to  shut  up  the  house.  I  will  run  up  to  my 
room  and  hide  these ;  then  help  her  side  up,  and  come 
out  again." 

"  No,  no  !  That  would  be  dangerous ;  but  I  would 
like  to  see  how  the  dress  looks.  What  if  you  put  it  on 
after  the  house  is  still,  and  come  to  the  window  with  a 


250  HOUSTON'S    REST. 

light.  I  will  walk  about  till  then,  and  shall  go  home 
thinking  that  my  sweetheart  is  the  daintiest  lass  in  this 
village  or  the  next." 

"  Would  you  be  pleased  ?  I  shall  be  sure  to  put  the 
dress  on.  Oh,  how  I  have  longed  for  one  like  it !  Yes, 
yes !  I  will  come  to  the  window." 

Judith  uttered  this  assurance,  and  darted  into  the 
house,  in  time  to  escape  the  landlady,  who  came  to  the 
back  door  just  as  she  passed  up  the  stairs. 

Storms  did  linger  about  the  house  until  the  company 
had  withdrawn  from  it,  and  the  lights  were  put  out,  all 
but  one,  which  burned  in  the  chamber  of  Judith  Hart. 
A  curtain  hung  before  this  window,  behind  which  he 
could  see  shadows  moving  for  some  minutes.  Then  the 
curtain  was  suddenly  withdrawn,  and  the  girl  stood  fully 
revealed.  The  light  behind  her  fell  with  brilliant  dis 
tinctness  on  the  scarlet  jacket,  and  was  lost  in  the  darker 
shadows  of  her  skirt.  She  had  twisted  back  the  curls 
from  her  face  with  graceful  carelessness ;  but,  either  by 
art  or  accident,  had  given  them  the  rippling  waves  that 
made  Ruth  Jessup's  head  so  classical. 

"By  Jove,  but  she's  the  very  image  of  her!"  ex 
claimed  Storms,  striking  his  leg  with  one  hand.  "  No 
two  sparrows  were  ever  more  alike." 

This  flash  of  excitement  died  out  while  Judith 
changed  her  position,  and  flung  a  kiss  to  him  through 
the  window. 

For  minutes  after  he  stood  staring  that  way,  while  a 
dull  shudder  passed  through  him. 

"  She's  too  pretty,  oh,  too  pretty  for  that ! "  he  mut 
tered.  "  I  wish  it  hadn't  come  into  my  mind !  " 


A     WILD-FLOWER     OFFERING.  251 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

A    WILD-FLOWER    OFFERING. 

WHEN  Webb  entered  his  master's  room,  after  the 
young  wife  had  fled  from  it,  he  found  the  patient 
in  a  high  state  of  excitement.  The  flash  of  his  eye,  and 
the  vivid  color  in  his  cheeks,  fairly  frightened  the  good 
man,  who  dreaded,  above  all  things,  a  second  attack  of 
the  fever,  which  had  already  so  nearly  proved  fatal. 

"  Help  me  to  the  couch  ;  wheel  it  to  the  window.  I 
want  to  look  out ;  I  want  air ! "  said  the  young  man, 
flinging  himself  half  off  the  bed,  and  reeling  toward  the 
couch,  on  which  he  dropped,  panting  and  so  helpless 
that  he  could  only  enforce  his  first  order  by  a  gesture. 
"Webb  folded  the  dressing-gown  over  his  master,  and 
wheeled  the  couch  close  to  the  window. 

"  Open  it !  Open  it !  "  gasped  the  young  man,  im 
patiently. 

Webb  threw  open  a  leaf  of  the  French  window. 
Struggling  to  his  elbow,  young  Hurst  leaned  out,  scan 
ning  the  flower-garden  with  bright  and  eager  eyes.  But 
the  arm  on  which  he  leaned  trembled  with  weakness, 
and  soon  gave  way.  His  head  fell  upon  the  cushions, 
and  his  eyes  closed  wearily. 

"  I  cannot  see  her,"  he  murmured,  under  his  breath. 
"  I  cannot  see  her.  She  could  not  have  escaped  if  it  had 
been  real.  Ah,  me!  Why  should  dreams  mock  one 
so?" 

"Let  me  close  the  window,"  said  Webb,  anxiously. 
"The  air  is  too  much  for  you." 

"Yes,  close  it,"  answered  Hurst,  with  a  sigh;  "but 


252  NORSTON'S    REST. 

first  look  out,  and  tell  me  if  you  see  any  one  moving 
among  the  flowers." 

Webb  stepped  into  the  balcony  and  examined  the 
grounds  beneath  it.  As  he  did  this,  a  gust  of  wind 
swept  through  the  opposite  door  and  carried  with  it  a 
folded  paper,  which  had  fallen  from  the  invalid's  hand 
when  he  staggered  up  from  the  bed. 

"No,"  said  Webb,  closing  the  window.  "I  sse  no 
one  but  a  young  woman  going  round  to  the  servant's 
entrance." 

"A  young  woman  !     Who  is  it  ?     Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  No  one  that  I  have  seen  before.  Nay,  now  that  I 
look  again,  it  is  the  young  woman  from  the  public  over 
in  the  village." 

"  What  is  she  doing  here  ? "  q  u  jstioned  Hurst,  im 
patiently. 

"  Come  on  some  errand  from  her  mistress  to  the  house 
keeper,  most  likely,"  answered  Webb. 

"At  first  I  almost  thought  it  was  old  Jessup's  daughter; 
but  for  the  lift  of  her  head,  and  the  swing  in  her  walk, 
one  might  take  her  for  that." 

"Old  Jessup's  daughter!  Don't  talk  like  a  fool, 
Webb,"  said  the  young  man,  rising  to  his  elbow  again, 
flushed  and  angry.  "As  if  there  could  be  a  comparison." 

Webb  very  sensibly  made  no  reply  to  this ;  but  think 
ing  that  his  master  might  be  vexed  because  Lady  Rose 
had  not  brought  her  usual  offering  of  flowers  that  morn^ 
ing,  changed  the  subject  with  crafty  adroitness. 

"  Lady  Rose  has  gone  out  to  drive  in  the  pony  carriage. 
Sir  Hugh  would  have  it  so,"  he  explained. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say,"  muttered  Hurst,  indifferently. 
"  She  stays  about  the  house  too  much.  It  is  very  tire 
some  for  her." 


A     WILD-FLOWER     OFFERING.  253 

The  young  man  never  closed  his  eyes  after  this,  and, 
with  both  hands  under  his  head,  lay  thinking. 

"  It  was  so  real.  I  felt  her  kiss  on  my  lips  when  I 
awoke.  Her  hand  was  in  mine.  She  looked  frightened. 
She  left  something.  Webb  !  Webb  ! " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Walton!" 

"  Look  on  the  bed.  I  have  lost  something — a  paper. 
Find  it  for  me.  Find  it." 

Webb  went  to  the  bed,  flung  back  the  delicate  coverlet, 
and  the  down  quilt  of  crimson  silk  :  but  found  nothing 
either  there  or  among  the  pillows. 

"  There  is  nothing  here,  sir  !  " 

"  Look  again.  There  must  be  a  paper.  I  felt  it  in 
my  hand.  There  must  be  a  paper." 

"Really,  Mr.  Wali.>u,  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Look  on  the  floor — everywhere.  I  tell  you  it  was 
too  real.  Somewhere  you  will  find  it." 

Webb  searched  the  bed  again,  and  examined  the  carpet, 
with  a  feeling  of  uneasiness. 

"  The  fever  has  come  back,"  he  thought.  "  He  is 
getting  wild,  again.  What  can  have  done  it?  He 
seemed  so  quiet  when  I  went  out — was  sleeping  like  a 
baby." 

Troubled  with  these  thoughts,  the  faithful  fellow  went 
on,  searching  the  room,  without  the  least  shadow  of  ex 
pectation  that  he  would  find  anything.  At  last  he  rose 
from  his  knees,  and  repeated, 

"  There  is  nothing  here,  sir." 

Hurst  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and  turned  his  head  away, 
weak  and  despondent. 

" Dreams,  dreams,"  he  thought.  "She  is  always 
coming,  but  never  comes — never.  Ah,  this  is  too  cruel. 
Can  it  be  so  clear,  and  yet  a  dream?" 


254 

Webb  came  up  to  the  couch,  hesitating  and  anxious. 
The  flush  was  still  on  his  master's  face.  His  eyelids 
were  closed,  but  they  were  quivering,  and  the  long,  dark 
lashes  were  damp  with  tears  the  young  man  was  unable 
to  suppress  in  the  extremity  of  his  weakness. 

"Something  has  happened.  Who  has  dared  to  disturb 
you?"  said  Webb,  touched  and  anxious. 

"Dreams,  Webb,  dreams — nothing  else.  Help  me 
back  to  bed." 

Webb  obeyed  this  request  with  great  tenderness,  and, 
in  a  few  moments,  Hurst  lay  upon  the  pillows  he  had 
left  with  such  a  burst  of  wild  hope,  completely  pros 
trated. 

"Don't  let  me  sleep  again,"  he  murmured,  wearily. 
"  Not  in  the  day-time.  Such  rest  is  a  cheat." 

"Ah,  you  will  not  care  to  sleep  now,"  said  the  servant, 
"for  here  comes  Lady  Rose,  with  her  carriage  full  of 
ferns  and  flowers,  from  the  woods.  She  said,  this  morn 
ing,  that  the  splendor  of  our  roses  only  wearied  you,  and 
she  would  find  something  so  fresh  and  sweet  that  no  one 
could  help  admiring  them.  Ah,  Mr.  Walton,  the  young 
lady  never  tires  of  thinking  what  will  please  you  best." 

"  I  know — I  know,"  answered  Hurst,  impatiently. 
"  She  is  good  to  every  one." 

Just  then  a  sweet,  cheerful  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall. 
Directly  the  door  opened  softly,  and  Lady  Rose  came  in, 
carrying  an  armful  of  ferns  and  delicate  wild  flowers 
close  to  her  bosom. 

"See,  what  I  have  brought  you,"  she  said,  looking 
down  upon  her  fragrant  burden  with  child-like  delight. 
"  I  saw  how  tired  you  were  of  those  great  standard 
roses,  and  the  ragged  snow  of  our  Japan  lilies.  Arrange 
them  as  I  would,  they  never  made  your  eyes  brighten. 


A    WILD-FLOWER    OFFERING.  255 

But  these  are  so  lovely ;  great,  blue  violets,  such  as  only 
grow  around  the  old  summer-house  on  the  black  lake. 
And  such  ferns!  You  never  saw  anything  so  dewy  and 
delicate.  Sir  Noel  and  I  brought  them  away  in  quanti 
ties;  one  goes  to  the  lake  so  seldom,  you  know.  Really, 
Walton,  I  think  such  things  thrive  best  in  the  shadows. 
See!" 

Lady  Rose  had  seated  herself  on  the  couch  which  the 
sick  man  had  just  left,  and  while  her  soft,  blonde  hair 
was  relieved  by  the  purple  velvet  of  the  cushions, 
dropped  the  flowers  into  her  lap.  Then  she  began  to 
arrange  them  into  bouquets,  and  crowd  them  into  vases 
which  Sir  Noel  brought  to  her,  with  an  attention  that 
was  both  gallant  and  paternal. 

As  she  was  filling  the  vases,  Lady  Rose  selected  the 
brightest  blossoms  and  the  most  delicate  tufts  of  fern 
from  the  mass,  and  laid  them  upon  the  purple  of  the 
cushion,  with  a  little  triumphant  glance  at  Sir  Noel, 
which  brought  to  his  lips  one  of  those  rare  smiles  that 
came  seldom  to  them  in  these  days. 

When  all  was  done,  the  girl  gathered  these  choice  bits 
into  a  cluster,  tied  them  with  a  twist  of  grass;  and, 
gathering  up  the  refuse  stalks  and  flowers  in  her  over- 
skirt,  stole  softly  to  the  bed,  and  laid  her  pretty  offering 
on  Hurst's  pillow. 

The  young  man  turned  his  head,  as  if  the  perfume 
oppressed  him,  and  a  slight  frown  contorted  his  forehead. 
Lady  Rose  observed  this,  and  a  flood  of  scarlet  swept  up 
to  her  face.  Sir  Noel  observed  it,  also,  and  frowned 
more  darkly  than  his  son. 

Without  a  word,  though  her  blue  eyes  filled  with 
shadows,  and  her  white  throat  was  convulsed  with  sup 
pressed  sobs,  Lady  Rose  left  the  room.  Once  in  her  own 


256  NORSTON'S   REST. 

apartment,  she  tore  back  the  lace  curtains  from  the  open 
window,  dashed  all  the  remnants  of  her  flowers  through, 
and  flinging  herself,  face  downward,  on  a  couch,  shook 
all  its  azure  cushions  with  a  passionate  storm  of  weeping. 

"He  does  not  love  me!  He  never  will!  All  my 
poor  little  efforts  to  please  him  are  thrown  away.  Ah, 
why  must  I  love  him  so?  Spite  of  it  all,  why  must  I 
love  him  so?" 

Poor  girl!  Fair  young  creature!  The  first  agony 
of  her  woman's  life  was  upon  her,  an  agony  of  love, 
that  she  would  not  have  torn  from  her  soul  for  the  uni 
verse,  though  every  throb  of  it  was  a  pain. 

"Why  is  it?  Am  I  so  disagreeable?  Am  I  plain, 
awkward,  incapable  of  pleasing,  that  he  turns  even  from 
the  poor  flowers  I  bring?" 

"Wondering  where  her  want  of  attractions  lay,  humble 
in  self-estimation,  yet  feverishly  wounded  in  her  pride, 
the  girl  started  up,  pushed  back  the  rich  blonde  hair 
from  a  face  fresh  as  a  blush  rose  with  dew  upon  it,  for 
it  was  wet  with  tears,  and  looked  into  the  opposite  mirror, 
where  she  made  as  lovely  a  picture  as  Sir  Joshua  ever 
painted.  The  tumultuous,  loving,  passionate  picture  of  a 
young  woman,  angry  with  herself  for  being  so  beautiful 
and  so  fond,  without  the  power  to  win  one  heart  which 
was  all  the  world  to  her. 

"I  suppose  he  thinks  me  a  child,"  she  said;  and  her 
lips  began  to  tremble,  as  if  she  were  indeed  incapable  of 
feeling  only  as  children  feel.  "Oh,  if  I  were — if  I  only 
could  go  back  to  that!  How  happy  we  were  then. 
How  gladly  he  met  me,  when  he  came  home  from  col 
lege!  I  was  his  darling  Rose  of  roses  then — his  little 
wife.  But  now;  but  now —  Is  that  girl  prettier  than 
I  am?  Does  he  love  her?  I  don't  believe  it.  I  will 


SEEKING     A     PLACE.  257 

not  believe  it.  She  may  love  him.  How  could  any 
woman  help  it?  Poor  girl!  poor  girl,  I  pity  her!  But 
then,  who  knows,  she  may  be  pitying  me  all  the  time! 
She  almost  seemed  to  claim  him  that  awful  night.  Oh, 
I  wish  that  look  of  her  eyes  would  go  out  of  my  mind. 
But  it  seems  burned  in." 

Lady  Kose  had  ceased  to  weep,  though  her  superb 
blue  eyes  were  still  misty,  and  full  of  trouble,  as  these 
thoughts  swayed  through  her  brain.  Something  in  the 
mutinous  beauty  of  that  face  in  the  glass  half  fascinated 
her.  She  smoothed  back  the  cloud  of  fluffy  hair  from 
her  temples,  and  unconsciously  half  smiled  on  herself. 
Surely,  the  dark,  gipsy-like  face  of  the  gardener's 
daughter  could  not  compare  with  that.  Then  Walton 
Hurst  was  so  proud  ;  the  only  son  of  a  family  rooted  in 
the  soil  before  the  Plantagenets  took  their  title,  was  not 
likely  to  mate  with  the  daughter  of  a  servant.  Looking 
at  herself  there  in  the  mirror,  and  knowing  that  the  blue 
blood  in  her  veins  was  pure  as  his,  she  began  to  marvel 
at  herself  for  the  thought. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

SEEKING     A     PLACE. 

MRS.  HIPPLE  came   into   the   room   and   found 
Lady  Rose  among  her  azure  cushions,  on  which 
she  had  sunk  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  a  blush  of  shame,  at 
being  so  caught  in  the  midst  of  her  wild  thoughts. 

"  Dear,  dear,  I  wonder  how  your  ladyship  got  in  with- 
16 


258 

out  my  knowing  it,"  she  said,  picking  up  the  jaunty 
little  hat  which  the  girl  had  flung  on  the  carpet.  "We 
thought  Sir  Noel  had  taken  you  for  a  long  drive." 

"  No  matter,  you  need  have  been  in  no  haste  to  come/' 
said  the  young  lady,  turning  her  face  from  the  light. 

"  But  this  poor  hat.  See  how  the  lace  and  flowers  are 
crushed  together.  Such  a  beauty  as  it  was,  and  worn 
for  the  first  time.  But  I  do  think  it  is  past  mending." 

"Let  them  throw  it  aside,  then,"  answered  Rose,  with 
out  looking  at  the  pretty  fabric  of  chip,  lace,  and  flowers, 
over  which  Mrs.  Hippie  was  mourning.  "  What  is  a  hat, 
more  or  less,  to  any  one  ? " 

"  Nothing  to  your  ladyship,  I  know ;  but  I  haven't 
seen  the  young  master  admire  anything  so  much  this 
many  a  day." 

"  What !     What  were  you  saying,  Mrs.  Hippie?" 

"  Nothing ;  only  what  a  pity  it  was  that  you  would 
fling  things  about  in  this  fashion." 

"  But  something  you  said  about — about — " 

"No,  nothing  particular,  only  when  your  ladyship 
stopped  at  the  door,  and  said  '  good-morning ?  to  the 
young  gentleman,  he  observed  that  he  had  seldom  seen 
you  look  so  bright  and  pleasant ;  when  I  answered,  that 
it  was,  perhaps,  owing  to  the  hat  which  had  just  come 
down,  and  was,  to  my  taste,  a  beauty,  he  said,  'yes, 
it  might  be,  for  something  made  you  look  uncommonly 
lovely/  " 

Lady  Rose  started  up.  She  was  no  longer  ashamed  of 
her  flushed  face,  but  reached  out  her  hand  for  the  hat, 
which  had,  indeed,  been  rather  severely  crushed  by  its 
fall  on  the  floor. 

"  It  is  a  shame ! "  she  said,  eying  the  pretty  fabric 
lovingly.  "  But  I  did  not  think  it  so  very  pretty.  No, 


SEEKING     A     PLACE.  259 

no,  Mrs.  Hippie,  I  will  do  it  myself.  Such  a  useless 
creature  as  I  am.  There,  now,  the  flowers  are  as  good  as 
ever;  it  only  wanted  a  touch  or  two  of  the  fingers  to 
bring  them  all  right ;  and  I  rather  like  to  do  it." 

She  really  did  seem  to  like  handling  those  sprays, 
among  which  her  fingers  quivered  softly,  as  butterflies 
search  for  honey-dew,  until  they  subsided  into  a  loving 
caress  of  the  ribbons,  which  she  smoothed,  rolled  over  her 
hand,  and  fluttered  out  with  infinite  satisfaction. 

"  There,  you  fractious  old  Hippie,  are  you  satisfied 
now?"  she  questioned,  holding  up  the  renovated  hat  on 
one  hand ;  then,  putting  it  on  her  head,  she  looked  in 
the  glass  with  new-born  admiration  of  its  gracefulness. 
"  You  see  that  it  is  none  the  worse  for  a  little  knocking 
about." 

"  It  is  just  a  beauty.  No  wonder  Mr.  Walton's  eyes 
brightened  up  when  he  saw  it." 

Rose  took  the  dainty  fabric  from  her  head,  and  put  it 
carefully  aAvay  with  her  own  hands;  at  which  Mrs. 
Hippie  smiled  slyly  to  her  own  shadow  in  the  glass. 
Directly  after  this  the  kind  old  lady  went  down  to  the 
housekeeper's  parlor,  for  she  was  not  above  a  little  family 
gossip  with  Mrs.  Mason,  and  rather  liked  the  cosy  rest- 
fulness  of  the  place.  She  found  the  good  dame  in  an 
unusual  state  of  excitement. 

"A  young  woman  had  been  there,"  she  said,  "after 
a  place  as  lady's-maid.  She  had  heard  in  the  village  that 
one  would  be  wanted  at  e  The  Rest,'  and  came  at  once, 
hoping  to  secure  the  situation." 

"A  lady's-maid  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Hippie.  «  Why,  the  girl 
is  distraught — as  if  we  took  servants  who  come  offering 
themselves  in  that  way  at  'The  Rest.' 

"That  was  just  what  I  told  her/'  said  Mrs.  Mason, 


260 

laughing  as  scornfully  as  her  unconquerable  good  nature 
permitted.  "  I  gave  the  young  person  a  round  scolding 
for  thinking  the  thing  possible.  She  answered  that  she 
thought  no  harm  of  seeking  the  place,  as  it  was  only  in 
hopes  of  bettering  herself;  for  she  was  disgusted  with 
serving  wine  and  beer  at  the  '  Two  Ravens/  " 

"Serving  wine  and  beer?  Why,  Mason,  you  astonish 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Hippie,  lifting  her  hands  in  horror  of 
the  idea. 

"  Then  I  broke  out,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "and  rated 
her  for  thinking  that  any  one  fresh  from  the  bar  of  a 
public  house  could  fill  the  place  of  a  lady's  gentlewoman, 
who  should  be  bred  to  the  duties;  at  which  the  girl  gave 
her  head  a  toss  fit  for  a  queen,  and  said  that  some  day  she 
might  have  a  higher  place  than  that,  and  no  thanks  to  any 
body  but  herself." 

"  This  must  have  been  a  forward  girl,  Mason.  I  wonder 
you  had  patience  with  her." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  it  takes  something,  and  always  did,  to 
make  me  demean  myself  below  myself,"  said  the  house 
keeper,  folding  her  arms  firmly  over  her  bosom ;  "besides, 
she  came  down  wonderfully  in  the  end,  and  pleaded  for  a 
housemaid's  place,  as  if  that  was  the  thing  she  had  set  her 
heart  on  from  the  first;  and  it  was  more  than  I  could  do  to 
make  her  understand  that  no  such  person  was  wanted  at 
'The  Rest.7  Then  she  wanted  me  to  promise  that  she 
might  have  the  first  opening,  if  any  of  the  maids  should 
not  suit,  or  might  leave." 

AY  hen  Mrs.  Hippie  returned  to  the  room  where  she  had 
left  Lady  Rose,  this  singular  event  was  in  her  mind,  and 
she  spoke  of  it  with  the  freedom  always  awarded  to 
the  beloved  governess  who  had  now  become  the  com 
panion  and  friend  of  her  pupil.  Lady  Rose  gave  but 


SEEKING     A     PLACE.  261 

little  attention  to  the  subject.  Her  mind  was  too  thor 
oughly  occupied  with  other  thoughts  for  any  great  inter* 
est  in  matters  so  entirely  foreign  to  them ;  but  she  seemed 
to  listen.  That  was  enough  for  the  kind  old  lady,  who 
continued : 

"  The  girl  went  off  at  last,  quite  disappointed,  because 
she  wasn't  taken  on  at  once.  She  was  going  over  to 
Jessup's,  she  said,  to  have  a  chat  with  his  daughter. 
I  wonder  that  Ruth  should  not  choose  better  company. 
She  is  a  modest  thing  enough,  and  might  look  to  be  a 
lady's  maid  in  time,  without  stepping  very  much  out  of 
her  sphere,  being,  as  it  were,  bred  in  the  shadow  of '  The 
Rest/  and  gifted  with  more  learning  than  is  needful  to 
the  place." 

Here  Lady  Rose  was  aroused  to  more  vivid  interest. 
She  looked  up,  and  listened  to  every  word  her  com 
panion  uttered. 

"  You  are  speaking  of  Jessup's  pretty  daughter,"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  of  that  slender  young  thing,  Mason's  god 
daughter.  Some  people  think  her  almost  beautiful,  with 
her  great  black  eyes,  and  cheeks  like  ripe  peaches. 
Then  her  hair  is  quite  wonderful,  and  she  walks  like  a 
fawn." 

"  You  make  her  out  very  beautiful,"  said  Lady  Rose, 
with  a  quick  increase  of  color.  "  Perhaps  she  is — having 
seen  her  always  since  we  were  both  little  girls,  I  have 
not  observed  the  change  as  others  might." 

"  Of  course,  how  should  your  ladyship  be  expected  to 
think  of  her  now  that  you  are  the  first  lady  in  the  county, 
and  the  girl  only  what  she  has  always  been?" 

Lady  Rose  shook  her  head  in  kindly  reproof  of  this 
speech. 


262  NORSTOX'S     REST. 

"We  must  not  say  that,  Mrs.  Hippie,"  she  said. 
"  Ruth  was  my  playmate  as  a  little  girl,  a  sweet-tempered, 
pretty  friend,  whom  you  kindly  allowed  to  study  with 
me  as  an  equal. " 

"No,  no.  Never  as  an  equal.  That  was  impossible. 
She  was  bright  and  diligent." 

"  More  so  than  I  ever  was,"  said  Lady  Rose,  smiling 
on  the  old  woman. 

"Ah,  but  you  learned  so  quickly,  there  was  no  neces 
sity  for  application  with  you.  One  might  as  well  com 
pare  her  dark  prettiness  with — " 

Lady  Rose  held  up  her  hands,  with  a  childlike  show 
of  resistance. 

"There,  there.  If  you  draw  pleasant  comparisons, 
dear  Hippie,  it  is  because  you  love  me,  but  that  takes 
nothing  from  Ruth,  who  must  be  remarkably  good- 
looking,  or  people  would  not  admire  her  so  much." 

"Admired,  is  she?  Well,  I  know  little  of  that.  Of 
course,  the  servants  rave  about  her  beauty  in  the  house 
keeper's  room ;  I  rebuked  one  of  them  only  yesterday, 
for  saying  that  the  gentlemen  who  visit  at  i  The  Rest'  go 
by  the  gardener's  cottage  so  often  only  to  get  a  look  at  the 
daughter,  pretending  all  the  time  that  it  is  the  great  show 
of  roses  that  takes  them  that  way." 

"Were  you  not  a  little  hard  with  the  man,  Hippie? 
Sir  Noel's  guests — those  who  joined  in  the  hunt — cer 
tainly  did  seem  greatly  struck  by  her  appearance  as  we 
rode  by  the  cottage." 

"  No,  no,  the  man  deserved  a  reprimand  for  saying  that 
his  young  master  was  made  angry  by  their  praises,  when 
they  saw  her  standing  like  a  picture  in  the  porch,  for 
them  to  look  at." 

"You  were  right — excuse  me,  you  were  quite  justified 


SEEKING     A     PLACE.  263 

in  rebuking  him/'  said  the  lady,  in  breathless  haste.  "  Ife 
was  an  impertinence." 

"And,  of  all  places,  to  say  it  in  the  housekeeper's  room," 
added  the  old  lady,  "  and  Mason  to  permit  it ;  but  she 
thinks  her  goddaughter  a  paragon,  and  means  to  make 
her  the  heiress  of  all  her  savings.  Indeed,  she  intends  to 
give  her  something  handsome  when  she  is  married  to 
young  Storms." 

"Her  marriage  with  young  Storms!"  faltered  Lady 
Rose,  going  to  a  window  in  hopes  of  concealing  her  agi 
tation  ;  for  the  blood  was  burning  in  her  face,  and  she 
dared  not  meet  the  eyes  of  that  shrewd  old  lady.  "  Is 
that  anything  but  a  childish  romance  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  settled  thing,  my  lady.  We  shall  have  a 
wedding  at  the  cottage  soon  after  Jessup  gets  well." 

As  Mrs.  Hippie  said  this,  she  glided  out  of  the  room, 
clasping  her  hands  softly  together  as  she  went  down  the 
corridor,  and  smiling  as  such  women  will,  when  con 
scious  of  happiness  adroitly  conferred. 

Then  Lady  Rose  looked  shyly  around,  saw  that  she 
was  quite  alone,  and,  coming  out  of  her  covert,  began  to 
walk  the  room  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  like  some 
fawn  let  loose  in  a  pasture  of  wild  flowers.  Then  came 
a  knock  at  the  door.  Lady  Rose  stole  back  to  the 
window,  determined  that  no  one  should  see  her  radiant 
face  before  the  intruder  came  in.  It  was  a  servant  bear 
ing  a  message  from  the  sick-chamber. 

"  The  young  master  was  wholly  awake  now.  "Would 
Lady  Rose  come  and  read  to  him  a  while  ?  " 

Would  Lady  Rose  come  and  read  to  the  man  she 
loved?  Would  she  accept  the  brightest  corner  in  Para 
dise,  if  offered  to  her  ?  Ah,  how  her  face  brightened ! 
How  soft  and  giad  was  the  smile  that  dimpled  about  the 


264  NORSTON'S    REST. 

mouth,  so  sorrowful  only  a  little  time  before !  With  a 
quick  glance  she  looked  into  the  mirror,  and  made  an 
effort  to  improve  the  amber  cloud  of  hair  that  was  most 
effective  in  beautiful  disorder.  Struck  with  the  loveli 
ness  of  her  own  face,  she  gave  up  the  effort  and  went 
away. 

"He  has  sent  for  me,"  was  her  happy  thought.  "He 
did  not  mean  to  reject  my  violets.  It  was  only  because 
he  was  not  quite  awake.  He  has  sent  for  me !  He  has 
sent  for  me  ! " 

Poor  girl !  She  did  not  know  that  Sir  Noel  had  been 
pointing  out  the  unkindness  of  his  action  to  the  invalid, 
and  that  this  message  was  one  of  almost  forced  atonement. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 
THE    FATHER'S    SICK-ROOM. 

"DREATHLESS  and  wildly  happy,  Ruth  Jessup 
~D  almost  flew  along  the  shaded  path  which  led  from 
"The  Rest"  to  her  own  humble  dwelling.  Now  and 
then  she  would  look  up  to  a  bird  singing  in  the  branches 
above  her,  and  answer  his  music  with  a  sweet,  uncon 
scious  laugh.  Again,  her  mouth  would  dimple  at  the 
sight  of  a  tuft  of  blue  violets,  the  flower  she  loved  most 
of  any.  The  very  air  she  breathed  was  a  delight  to  her, 
and  the  sunshine  warmed  her  heart,  as  it  penetrates  the 
cup  of  a  flower. 

Up  she  came  into  her  father's  sick-room  like  a  beam 
of  morning  light. 

"  I  have  seen  him,  father.  I  gave  the  letter  into  his 
own  hands.  He  is  not  looking  so  very  ill." 


THE    FATHER'S    SICK-ROOM.          265 

Jessup  started  to  his  elbow,  eager  and  glad  as  the  girl 
herself. 

"  Then  he  got  it  ?     He  surely  got  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !     I  am  very,  very  sure ! " 

"But  how?  How  didst  manage  it,  since  he  is  not 
well  enough  to  leave  his  room  ? " 

"I  went  there!" 

"You?" 

"  Yes,  father ;  there  was  no  other  wa$,  if  I  wished  to 
put  the  paper  into  his  own  hand,  as  you  bade  me.  So  I 
went  to  his  room." 

"  But,  Sir  Noel !  Mrs.  Mason  !  I  marvel  they  let 
any  one  into  his  room  so  easily." 

"  Oh,  they  did  not.  I  never  dared  to  ask  either  of 
them,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  sweet,  triumphant  laugh,  that 
sounded  strangely  in  the  lone  sadness  of  the  house. 
"  I  evaded  them,  and  all  the  rest." 

"But  how?" 

Ruth  hesitated.  The  secret  of  the  balcony  stairs  was 
too  precious — she  would  keep  it  even  from  her  father,  as 
the  angels  guarded  Jacob's  ladder. 

"  Oh,  I  slipped  in  while  Mr.  Webb  was  away." 

"  Well !  well !  And  he  was  not  looking  so  very  ill. 
He  read  my  letter,  and  that  brightened  him  up  a  bit,  I'll 
be  bound  ?  "  questioned  the  gardener. 

"  Not  while  I  was  there.  I  only  had  a  minute.  They 
"were  on  the  stairs,  and  there  was  no  chance  for  a  word." 

"But  he  is  getting  better;  you  are  sure  of  that?" 

"  Oh,  yes.     I  feel  quite  sure,  father." 

"Well,  I'm  thankful  for  that.  Mayhap  he'll  be  able 
to  come  and  see  a  poor  fellow  before  long.  Then  we 
shall  know  more  about  it." 

"About  what,  father?" 


266  NO RS TON'S   REST. 

"Oh,  nothing  much  !  Only  I'd  give  all  the  money  I 
have  been  so  long  hoarding  for  the  wedding-day  only  to 
be  sure — " 

"Then  he  is  not  to  blame  about  anything?"  broke  in 
Ruth,  throwing  her  arms  around  the  sick  man,  and  kiss 
ing  him  wildly,  as  if  she  did  not  quite  know  what  she 
was  about.  "  Oh,  father !  father !  How  could  you  ever 
think  ill  of  him?" 

" Child,  child !  What  is  all  this  ado  about?  Who 
said  that  I  did  think  ill  of  the  lad  ?  Him  as  I  have 
always  loved  next  to  my  own  child  !  Come,  come,  now ! 
What  have  I  said  to  make  you  so  shaky  and  so  fond  ? " 

Ruth  gave  him  another  kiss  for  answer,  and,  seating 
herself  on  the  bed,  looked  down  upon  him  with  a  glow 
in  her  great  velvety  eyes  that  brought  a  smile  to  his  lips. 

"Anyway,  the  walk  has  brightened  this  face  up  won 
derfully.  Why,  here  is  color  once  again,  and  the  dim 
ples  are  coming  back  like  bees  around  a  rose.  Yes  !  yes ! 
Kiss  me,  lass !  It  does  me  good — it  does  me  good  ! " 

Ruth  began  to  smooth  the  iron-gray  hair  on  that 
rugged  head,  while  the  old  man  looked  fondly  upon  her 
glowing  face. 

"Never  mind.  We  shall  be  happy  enough  yet,  little 
one,"  he  said,  smoothing  her  shapely  hand  with  his  broad 
palm.  "  Everything  is  sure  to  come  out  right,  now  that 
we  understand  one  another." 

Ruth  drooped  her  head  as  the  old  man  said  this,  and 
the  bloom  faded  a  little  from  her  cheeks. 

"  Yes;  oh,  yes,  father ! "  she  faltered,  drawing  her  hand 
away  from  his. 

A  look  of  the  old  trouble  came  into  the  deep,  gray 
eyes,  dwelling  so  fondly  upon  the  girl ;  but  before  another 
word  could  be  spoken,  Ruth  had  left  the  bed,  and  lifting 


THE    FATHER'S    SICK-ROOM.          267 

a  vase  full  of  withered  flowers  from  the  mantelpiece,  flung 
them  through  the  open  window. 

"See  what  a  careless  girl  I  have  been,  never  to  think 
how  you  love  the  roses,  and  they  in  full  blossom,  all  this 
time.  I  never  forgot  you  so  long  before.  Now  did  I, 
father?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  them/'  answered  the  old  man, 
shaking  his  head  on  the  pillow.  "  My  mind  was  too  full 
of  other  things." 

"  But  we  must  think  of  them  now,  or  the  house  won't 
seem  like  home  when  you  are  strong  enough  to  sit  np," 
answered  Ruth,  with  a  reckless  sort  of  cheerfulness. 
"  Everything  must  be  bright  and  blooming  then.  I  will 
go  now,  and  co'me  back  with  the  roses.  They  will  seem 
like  old  friends;  won't  they,  father  dear?" 

Ruth  had  reached  the  door  with  the  vase  in  her  hand 
when  a  knock  sounded  up  from  the  porch. 

The  color  left  her  face  at  the  sound,  and  she  nearly 
dropped  the  vase,  so  violent  was  the  start  she  gave. 

"I  wonder  who  it  is? "she  said,  casting  a  look  of 
alarm  back  at  her  father,  but  speaking  under  her  breath. 
"  Has  he  come  to  frighten  away  all  my  happiness?" 

She  went  down-stairs  reluctantly,  and,  with  dread  at 
her  heart,  opened  the  entrance  door.  A  girl  stood  in  the 
porch,  carrying  a  basket  on  her  arm,  who  entered  the 
passage  without  ceremony,  and  walked  into  the  little 
parlor. 

"The  mistress  sent  me  to  inquire  after  your  father,  Miss 
Jessup,"  she  said,  taking  a  survey  of  the  room,  which  was 
furnished  better  than  most  of  its  class.  "  Besides  that,  I 
bring  a  jar  of  her  best  apricot  jelly,  with  a  bottle  of  port 
from  the  inn  cellar,  and  her  best  compliments ;  things 
she  don't  send  promiscuously  by  me,  who  only  take  them 
once  in  a  while  when  it  suits  me,  as  it  does  now." 


268  NORS  TON'S   REST. 

'  You  are  very  kind/'  said  Euth,  with  gentle  reserve. 
"Pray  thank  Mrs.  Curtis  for  us." 

"  Of  coarse,  I'll  thank  her,  but  not  till  I've  rested  a 
bit  in  this  pretty  room.  Why,  it's  like  a  grand  picture, 
with  a  carpet  and  chairs  fit  for  a  gentleman's  house; 
enough  to  make  any  girl  lift  her  head  above  common 
people,  as  Mr.  Storms  says,  when  he  goes  about  praising 
you." 

"Mr.  Storms!"  faltered  Euth,  shrinking  from  the 
name. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Storms.  It's  only  here  and  there  one  who 
thinks  of  calling  him  Dick  ;  and  they  are  uncommonly 
careful  not  to  let  him  hear  them ;  for  he  has  a  strong 
hand,  slender  and  thin  as  he  looks,  has  Storms.  But  I 
needn't  tell  you  anything  about  him." 

"No.  It's  not  necessary,"  replied  Euth,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  said. 

"Of  course  not.  He  comes  here  often  enough  to 
speak  for  himself,  I  dare  say,"  persisted  the  girl,  in 
whose  great  dark  eyes  a  sinister  light  was  gleaming. 

"  Not  often." 

Judith  Hart's  eyes  sparkled. 

"Scarcely  at  all,"  continued  Euth,  "since  my  father 
was  hurt." 

"  Is  it  his  keeping  away  or  the  watching  that  makes 
you  look  so  white  in  the  face?"  said  Judith,  taking  off 
her  bonnet,  and  revealing  a  mass  of  rich  hair,  which  she 
pushed  back  from  her  temples. 

Euth  looked  at  the  girl  with  a  strangely  bright, 
almost  amused,  expression. 

"  I  think — I  fear  that  my  father  will  want  me,"  was 
her  sole  reply. 

"  That's  more  than  some  other  people  do."     This  in- 


PROFFERED     SERVICES.  2G9 

solent    retort   almost   broke   from    the    girl's   lips,   but 
she  checked  it,  only  saying:  "Here  is  your  wine  and  the 

jelly." 

"  Mrs.  Curtis  is  very  kind.  Wait  a  little,  and  I  will 
cut  her  some  flowers,"  answered  Ruth. 

Judith's  great  eyes  flashed  as  she  gave  up  the  parcel. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can  wait,  since  you  are  polite  enough  to 
give  me  leave." 

"  Pray  rest  yourself,  while  I  go  into  the  garden." 

Judith  folded  her  arms,  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and 
said  that  she  could  wait ;  the  mistress  did  not  expect  her 
to  come  back  yet  a  while. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

PROFFERED     SERVICES. 

T3UTH  went  into  the  garden,  which  was  lying  in 
•JLli  shadow  just  then;  so  she  required  no  covering  for 
her  head,  but  rather  enjoyed  the  bland  south  wind  which 
drifted  softly  through  her  loose  hair,  as  she  stooped  to 
pluck  the  roses. 

Meantime  Judith  Hart  lifted  herself  from  the  loung 
ing  attitude  into  which  she  had  sunk,  and  in  an  instant 
became  sharply  alert.  Upon  a  little  chintz  couch  that 
occupied  one  side  of  the  room  she  found  the  scarlet 
sacque  and  a  dainty  little  hat,  which  Ruth  had  flung 
there  before  going  up  to  her  father,  after  her  return  from 
"The  Rest."  Quick  as  thought,  Judith  slipped  on  the 
sacque,  and  placed  the  hat  with  its  side  cluster  of  red  roses 


270 


II  E  S  T . 


on  her  head.  After  giving  a  sharp  glance  through  the 
window,  to  make  sure  that  Ruth  was  still  occupied  in 
the  garden,  she  went  up  to  a  little  mirror,  and  took  a 
hasty  survey  of  herself. 

"  The  jacket  is  as  like  as  two  peas,"  she  thought, 
"  and  the  hat  is  easy  got.  There'll  be  no  trouble  in 
twisting  up  one  side  like  this.  As  to  the  roses,  he  must 
get  them  before  the  fair  is  over.  If  I  could  only  wear 
them  in  broad  daylight,  before  all  their  faces,  it  would 
be  splendid ;  but  he  won't  give  in  to  that.  Farther  on, 
I'll  show  him  and  them,  too,  what  a  dash  Richard  Storms 
has  in  a  wife.  Oh,  goodness,  here  she  comes  !  " 

Quick  as  lightning  the  girl  flung  off  the  sacque ;  tossed 
the  hat  down  upon  it,  and  ran  to  the  seat  she  had  left. 
When  Ruth  came  in,  she  was  sitting  there,  casting  vague 
looks  around  her,  as  if  she  had  been  quietly  resting  all 
the  time. 

"  Take  these  and  this,"  said  Ruth,  giving  her  unwel 
come  visitor  a  great  bouquet  of  flowers,  and  a  little 
basket  brimming  over  with  strawberries;  "and  please 
take  our  thanks  to  your  mistress." 

"  But,  about  the  old  man  up-stairs.  How  is  he  getting 
on  ?  She  will  be  sure  to  ask." 

"  Better." 

"  He  is  mending,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  slowly." 

Judith  arose,  but  seemed  reluctant  to  go. 

"  You  look  pale  yet." 

"  No,  no ;  I  may  have  done,  but  not  now,"  answered 
Ruth,  blushing  as  she  thought  why  her  strength  and 
color  had  come  back  so  suddenly.  "  I  am  not  as  anxious 
as  I  was." 

"But  the  nursing,  and  the  work,  too,  must  come 
hard,"  persisted  the  girl. 


PROFFERED     SERVICES.  271 

"  Not  now ;  I  scarcely  feel  it  now." 

"  But  if  you  should,  remember,  I'm  both  ready  and 
willing  to  give  a  helping  hand." 

"  Thank  you." 

"And  the  mistress  will  be  glad  to  spare  me  now  and 
then,  when  she  knows  that  it  is  for  this  place  I'm 
wanted.  So  there  would  be  no  fear  of  asking." 

"  Your  mistress  is  very  good." 

"  Good  as  gold ;  especially  where  you  are  the  person 
that  wants  help.  '  Judith/  says  she,  calling  me  into  the 
bar,  'take  these  things  over  to  Jessup's  and  mind  you 
ask  particular  about  the  old  man.  He  should  'a'  been 
about  by  this  time ;  perhaps  it's  nursing  he  wants  most, 
so,  if  you  can  be  of  use,  don't  mind  coming  back  in  a 
hurry,  but  give  the  lass  a  helping  hand.  Poor  thing, 
she's  been  brought  up  o'er  dainty,  and  this  sickness  in  the 
house  is  sure  to  pull  her  down.'  That's  what  the  mistress 
said,  and  I'm  ready  to  abide  by  it,  and  help  you  at  any 
time." 

Ruth  was  touched  by  this  persistent  kindness,  that 
was  so  earnest  and  seemed  so  real,  and  her  rejection  of  it 
was  full  of  gratitude. 

"All  the  worst  trouble  is  over  now,"  she  said,  and  a 
gleam  of  moisture  came  into  her  eyes.  "  Say  this  to  your 
mistress.  As  for  yourself,  a  thousand  thanks;  but  I 
need  no  help  now,  though  I  shall  never  forget  how 
kindly  you  offered  it." 

"Oh,  as  for  the  kindness,  that's  nothing,"  answered 
the  girl,  with  a  slight  toss  of  the  head,  on  which  she  was 
tying  her  bonnet,  for  she  was  far  too  bold  for  adroit 
hypocrisy.  "  One  always  stands  ready  to  help  in  a  case 
of  sickness ;  but  never  mind,  you  will  be  sure  to  want 
ine  yet ;  when  you  come  to  that,  you'll  find  me  ready ; 
and  you  are  sure  to  come  to  it." 


272  XORSTON'S    REST. 

"  I  hope  not.  Indeed,  I  am  sure  of  it.  Father  is 
doing  so  well." 

"Would  you  mind  my  going  up  to  see  for  myself?" 
said  Judith,  sharply,  as  if  the  wish  were  flung  off  her 
mind  with  an  effort.  "  The  mistress  will  not  be  content 
with  less,  I  warrant." 

"  If  you  wish.  Only  he  must  not  be  disturbed,"  an 
swered  Ruth,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

"  Oh,  I'll  flit  up  the  stairs  like  a  bird,  and  hold  my 
breath  when  I  get  there,"  said  Judith,  eagerly. 

She  did  follow  Ruth  with  a  light  tread,  and  moved 
softly  across  the  sick  man's  chamber  when  she  reached 
it.  Jessup  turned  on  his  pillow  as  she  approached,  and 
held  out  his  hand,  with  a  smile.  The  sight  of  a  familiar 
face  was  pleasant  to  him. 

"  The  mistress  sent  me  to  ask  after  you,"  said  Judith, 
quite  subdued  by  the  stillness  and  the  pallor  of  the  sick 
man's  face,  "and  I  just  stepped  up  to  see  for  myself. 
She's  so  anxious  to  make  sure  that  you  are  mending." 

"Tell  her  I  am  better.  A'most  well,"  said  Jessup, 
grateful  for  this  attention  from  his  old  neighbor. 

"That's  something  worth  while,"  answered  the  girl, 
speaking  with  an  effort.  "  The  mistress  '11  be  glad  to 
hear  it,  and  so  will  be  many  a  one  who  comes  to  the 
house.  As  for  me,  if  I  can  do  anything  to  help  the 
young  lady,  she  has  only  to  say  so,  and  I'll  come,  night 
or  day,  for  she  doesn't  look  over  strong." 

Unconsciously  to  herself,  the  girl  had  been  so  im 
pressed  with  the  gentle  bearing  of  Ruth  Jessup,  that  she 
spoke  of  her  as  superior  to  her  class,  even  against  her 
own  will.  Jessup  noticed  this,  and  turned  a  fond  look 
on  Ruth. 

"She's  not  o'er  strong,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  Ruthy 


PROFFERED     SERVICES.  273 

wouldn't  like   any   one   but    herself    to   tend    on   her 
father/' 

"  No,  no,  indeed,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Ruth,  eagerly. 

"  But  I  might  help  about  the  work  below,"  urged 
Judith,  with  singular  persistency. 

Jessup  looked  at  his  daughter  questioningly. 

"  There  is  so  little  to  do,"  she  said,  "  but  I  am  obliged 
all  the  same." 

"Yes,  yes.  We  are  both  obliged.  Don't  forget  to 
say  as  much  to  the  mistress,"  said  Jessup. 

Judith  seized  his  hand,  and  shook  it  with  a  vigor  that 
made  him  cry  out  with  a  spasm  of  pain.  Then  her  face 
flushed,  and  a  strange,  unholy  light  shot  into  her  eyes. 

"Not  so  well  as  you  think,  or  a  grip  of  the  hand  like 
that  wouldn't  have  made  you  wince  so,  You  may  have 
need  of  me,  yet,"  she  said,  turning  upon  Ruth  •  "  to  my 
thinking,  it's  more  than  likely." 

"  I  hope  not,"  answered  Ruth ;  "  and  I  am  sure  that 
all  who  love  my  father  hope  so  too." 

"  Of  which  I  am  one,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  You 
may  make  sure  of  that.  No  one  wants  to  see  Jessup 
about  more  than  I  do.  Though  he  does  come  so  seldom 
to  the  public,  it  will  be  a  holiday  when  he  orders  the 
next  can  of  beer  at  the  '  Two  Ravens.'  So,  hoping  for 
the  best,  good-day  to  both  of  you." 
17 


274  NOES  TON'S    REST. 

CHAPTER    XLIII. 

THE     LOST     LETTER. 

TUDITH  HART  took  her  way  straight  for  the  wil- 
*J  derness.  She  passed  along  the  margin  of  the  black 
lake,  made  at  once  for  the  summer-house,  and  looked  in, 
then  turned  away  with  an  exclamation  of  disappoint 
ment. 

"  I  thought  he  would  V  been  here,  so  sharp  as  he  was 
for  news,"  she  muttered,  tearing  off  a  handful  of  rushes, 
and  biting  them  with  her  teeth,  until  they  rasped  her 
lips.  "  There's  no  depending  on  him  ;  but  wait  till  we're 
wed.  Then  he'll  have  to  walk  a  different  road.  Ha  ! " 

The  report  of  a  gun  on  a  rise  of  ground  beyond  the 
lake  brought  this  exclamation  from  her,  and  she  hastened 
on,  muttering  to  herself, 

"  It's  his  gun.  I  know  the  sound  of  it,  and  I  thought 
he  had  forgotten." 

Directly  she  came  in  sight  of  a  figure  walking  through 
the  thick  undergrowth. 

"  Richard  !  Richard  Storms  !" 

The  man  came  toward  her,  moving  cautiously,  and 
holding  up  one  hand. 

"Hush!  Can't  you  speak  without  screaming?"  he 
said,  hissing  the  words  through  his  teeth.  "  It's  broad 
daylight,  remember,  and  by  that,  there's  no  passing  you 
off  for  the  other  one,  if  a  gamekeeper  should  cross  us." 

"  Why  not?  I've  just  seen  Ruth  Jessup  and  myself 
in  the  glass  at  the  same  time,  and  we're  like  as  two  peas. 
Only  for  her  finikin  airs,  I  defy  any  one  to  say  which 
was  which." 


THE     LOST     LETTER.  275 

"  But  she  would  never  have  called  out  so  lustily." 

"Oh,  that  was  because  I  was  overjoyed  to  see  you, 
after  finding  the  little  lake-house  empty  !"  answered  the 
girl,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

Storms  shook  the  hand  off. 

"  Don't  do  that,  if  you  want  to  pass  for  a  lady,"  he 
said,  rudely. 

"A  lady,  now!  As  if  I  was  not  as  good  as  Ruth 
Jessup,  any  day,  and  more  of  a  lady,  too,"  retorted  the 
girl,  with  passionate  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Ruth  Jessup  isn't  the  girl  to  lay  her  hands  on  a 
man's  shoulder  without  his  asking,"  said  Storms,  setting 
down  his  gun,  and  dusting  his  coat,  as  if  her  touch  had 
soiled  it.  "  Who  knows  that  some  one  may  not  be  look 
ing  on  ?  " 

"And  if  it  chanced,  what  harm,  so  long  as  we  are  to 
be  man  and  wife  so  soon  ?  "  pleaded  the  girl,  now  fairly 
crying. 

"  What  harm !  Do  yon  think  I  want  every  game 
keeper  on  the  place  to  be  jibing  about  the  lass  I  mean 
to  make  a  lady  of,  if  she's  only  careful  of  herself?  " 

"If!"  repeated  the  girl,  dashing  away  her  tears. 
"  What  '  ifs '  are  there  between  you  and  me  ?  Before  we 
go  another  step,  I  want  to  hear  about  that." 

Storms  laughed,  and  said,  carelessly, 

"Never  mind.     What  news  do  you  bring  me?" 

"  None — not  a  word,  while  there  are  t  ifs '  in  the  way, 
let  me  tell  you  that ;  though  I  have  found  something 
that  you  would  give  a  hundred  guineas  down  to  get  hold 
of,  and  the  young  master  a  thousand  to  keep  back." 

"You  have!     What  is  it?" 

"Nothing  that  has  an  'if '  in  it." 

"There,  there!     Don't   be  silly.     I 


276  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Have  I  not  said,  as  plain  as  a  man  can  speak,  what  shall 
be  between  us  ?  " 

"  Well,  when  we  are  settled  in  the  farm  up  yonder,  I 
will  give  you  something  that  Sir  Noel  would  sell  his 
whole  estate  to  get  from  me.7' 

"As  if  I  believed  that." 

"But  you  may  believe  it.  The  more  time  I  have  for 
thinking,  the  more  worth  it  seems." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Only  a  penny's  worth  of  paper." 

"Bah!" 

"  With  writing  on  it  that  proves  who  shot  old  Jessup ! " 

Storms  turned  fiercely  upon  her. 

"Proves  what?" 

"  That  Walton  Hurst  shot  old  Jessup." 

"A  paper  !     Who  wrote  it  ?  " 

"  Jessup  himself." 

"  You  have  such  a  letter  signed  by  Jessup  ?  " 

"I  just  have  that!" 

"  Give  it  to  me,  lass !     Give  it  to  me !  " 

"Not  yet.  Fm  thinking  it  just  as  well  to  keep  the 
bit  of  paper  in  my  own  hands,"  was  the  sharp  answer. 
" '  Ifs '  might  come  up  again,  you  know ! ' 

A  look  of  shrewd  cunning  stole  over  the  features 
Judith's  suspicious  eyes  were  searching.  Storms  turned 
from  her  with  a  contemptuous  gesture. 

"There,  there!  Fm  not  to  be  taken  in  with  such 
chaff.  Try  something  better.  If  you  had  such  a  paper 
it  wouldn't  be  kept  back  from  a  true  sweetheart  one 
minute.  You've  got  a  man  of  sense  to  deal  with." 

"  I  haven't  got  it,  have  I  ?  Look  here  !  "  cried  Judith, 
drawing  back,  and  unfolding  a  paper  she  took  from  her 
bosom.  "  The  letters  are  large  enough.  You  can  read 
from  here.  Is  that  Jessup's  name  or  not  ?  " 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    VISIT.        277 

Storms  did  read  enough  to  see  how  important  the  paper 
might  become.  He  glanced  from  it  to  the  firmly  set  and 
triumphant  features  of  the  girl. 

"  You  brought  it  for  me.     You  will  give  it  to  me  !  " 

"  K"o !  "  answered  Judith,  folding  the  paper.  "  Not 
till  we  come  from  the  church." 

With  the  leap  of  a  tiger  Storms  sprang  upon  the  girl, 
and  snatched  at  the  paper ;  but  she,  wary  and  agile  as 
himself,  leaped  aside,  and  fled  like  a  deer  down  the  de 
clivity,  sending  a  ringing  laugh,  full  of  mockery,  back  to 
the  baffled  man. 

In  an  instant,  he  was  flying  after  her,  his  teeth  set 
hard,  his  eyes  gleaming,  and  every  leap  bringing  him 
nearer  to  her,  and  her  nearer  to  the  lake. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    VISIT. 

"DUTH  JESSUP  was  almost  happy,  now.  From  a 
-*-  t)  place  of  care  and  dread  her  father's  sick-room  had 
become  a  pleasant  little  haven  of  rest  to  her.  Perfect 
confidence  had  returned  between  the  father  and  child, 
broken  only  by  a  consciousness  of  one  secret.  Sooner  or 
later,  he  should  know  the  secret  of  her  marriage,  and 
rejoice  over  the  son  it  had  given  him.  Of  course,  the 
girl  thought  all  things  must  be  well,  now  that  her  father 
had  communicated  with  the  young  master ;  otherwise, 
that  look  of  calm  tranquillity  would  never  have  settled 
so  gently  on  the  face  that  seemed  to  have  given  up  its 
pain,  from  the  moment  she  had  gone  forth  with  that 


278  NOKSTON'S  KEST\ 

letter.  All  was  right  between  those  two,  and,  knowing 
this,  the  girl  felt  her  secret  only  as  a  s\,eet  love-burden, 
which,  sooner  or  later,  should  make  that  dear  father 
proud  and  happy,  as  she  hoped  to  be  herself. 

Thus,  all  the  day  long,  the  girl  flitted  about  the  cot 
tage,  doing  her  humble  household  work  with  dainty 
grace.  One  particular  morning  she  was  sitting  on  her 
father's  bed,  dropping  strawberries  into  his  mouth,  giving 
a  little  start,  when  he  made  a  playful  snap  at  her  stained 
fingers,  which  was  pleasant,  though  the  effort  brought  a 
twinge  of  pain  to  him,  and  a  pretty  affected  cry,  often 
broke  into  a  laugh,  from  her. 

"  There,  now,  you  shall  not  have  another,"  she  said, 
taking  the  hull  of  a  luscious  berry  between  her  thumb  and 
finger,  and  holding  it  out  of  reach,  tempting  his  thirsty 
mouth  with  its  red  ripeness.  "  Bite  the  hand  that  feeds 
you — oh,  for  shame ! " 

"  Nothing  but  a  false  hound  does  that,"  said  the  sick 
man,  far  more  seriously  than  the  occasion  demanded. 

"A  hound!  oh,  father,  that  is  too  bad.  I  meant  noth 
ing  like  that.  See,  now,  here  is  the  plumpest  and  ripest 
of  all.  Wait  till  I  dip  it  in  the  sugar.  It  seems  like 
rolling  it  in  snow,  don't  it?" 

The  invalid  opened  his  mouth  and  smiled,  as  the  rich 
fruit  melted  on  his  feverish  tongue. 

"  What  is  it,  father? "  questioned  the  girl,  as  a  shadow 
chased  away  the  smile.  "  What  is  the  matter,  now?" 

"  Nothing ;  really  nothing,  child ;  only  I  thought  there 
was  a  step  under  the  window." 

Ruth  listened,  and  the  color  left  her  face.  She  bent 
down  to  her  father,  and  stole  an  arm  around  his  neck. 
Then  he  felt  that  the  arm  was  trembling  like  a  reed  in 
the  wind. 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    VISIT.         279 

"  Oh,  father,  you  will  not  let  him  come  here  again  ? 
It  will  kill  me,  if  you  do." 

"  Plush,  hush,  lass !     Remember,  he  has  my  promise." 

"  But  not  mine.     Oh,  father,  do  not  be  so  cruel." 

A  step  sounded  in  the  lower  passage.  Ruth  grew  pale 
as  she  listened.  The  footsteps  paused  near  the  stairs,  and 
a  voice  called  out, 

"Ruthy!  I  say,  Ruthy!" 

Ruth  sprang  from  the  bed  with  a  little  cry  of  joy,  and 
flinging  open  the  door,  looked  over  the  banister. 

"Is  it  you?  Is  it  only  you,  godmother?  Come  up, 
come  up!" 

Mrs.  Mason  accepted  the  invitation,  planting  her  feet 
so  firmly  on  the  narrow  stairs  that  they  shook  under  her. 

"Of  course,  I  know  he  is  better  by  the  look  of  your 
face,"  said  the  dame,  pausing  to  draw  a  deep  breath 
before  she  entered  the  sick  man's  room.  "  You  need  not 
trouble  yourself  to  ask;  all  is  going  on  well  at  ( The 
Rest/  The  young  master  walks  across  the  room  now, 
and  lies  on  the  couch  near  the  window,  looking  out  as 
if  he  pined  for  the  free  air  again,  as  who  wouldn't,  after 
such  a  bout  of  illness? " 

Ruth  did  not  speak,  but  her  face  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  through  the  droop  of  their  long  lashes.  She 
knew  that  the  window  her  godmother  spoke  of  looked 
across  the  flower-garden  to  their  own  cottage,  and  her 
fond  heart  beat  all  the  faster  for  the  knowledge. 

"  So,  at  last,  an  old  friend  can  win  a  sight  of  you," 
said  dame  Mason,  crossing  over  to  the  bed  where  Jessup 
lay,  and  patting  the  great  hand  which  rested  on  the 
coverlet  with  her  soft  palm  ;  "  aud  right  glad  I  am  to  find 
you  are  looking  so  well." 

Jessup  looked  at  Ruth,  and  smiled. 


280  NORS TON'S    REST. 

"She  takes  such  care  of  me,  how  can  I  help  it?"  he 
said. 

"  Aye,  truly.  It  will  be  hard  when  you  have  to  part 
with  her,  I  must  say  that ;  but  such  is  human  nature. 
We  rear  them  up,  get  to  loving  them  like  our  own 
hearts,  and  away  they  go,  building  nests  for  themselves. 
Her  mother  did  it  for  you,  remember ;  and  so  it  will  be 
while  human  nature  is  human  nature." 

Jessup  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  looked  at  his  daughter 
with  wistful  earnestness.  She  answered  him  with  a 
glance  of  tender  appeal,  from  which  he  turned  to  the 
dame  with  a  little  gleam  of  triumph. 

"  There  is  the  rub,  Mrs.  Mason.  My  lass  will  not 
listen  to  leaving  her  old  father,  but  fights  against  it  like 
a  bird  that  loves  its  cage,  all  the  more  fiercely  now  that 
I  am  down." 

Mrs.  Mason  wheeled  round,  and  looked  at  Ruth  from 
under  her  heavy  eyebrows,  as  if  she  doubted  what  the 
father  had  been  saying. 

"Aye,  little  one,  we  know  better  than  that,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  don't  quite  like  this.  Cheating  a  sick  man  may 
be  for  his  good  ;  but  I  don't  like  it,  I  don't  like  it." 

"Cheating,"  faltered  Ruth,  conscience-stricken.  "Oh, 
godmother." 

"  Well,  well,  the  old  saying,  that  all  things  is  fair  in 
love  or  war,  may  be  true ;  but  I  don't  believe  it.  Ac 
cording  to  my  idea,  truth  is  truth,  and  nothing  can  be 
safer  or  better,  in  the  long  run.  Mark  this,  goddaughter, 
the  first  minute  you  get  out  of  the  line  of  truth,  casts 
you,  headforemost,  into  all  sorts  of  trouble.  One  must 
wrind  and  turn,  like  a  fox,  to  get  out  of  a  deceit,  if  one 
ever  does  get  out,  which  I'm.  not  sure  of." 

Ruth  stood  before  the  good  housekeeper,  as  she  pro- 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    VISIT.        281 

mulgated  this  homely  opinion,  like  a  detected  culprit. 
Her  color  came  and  went,  her  eyelids  drooped,  and  a 
weight  seemed  to  settle,  like  lead,  upon  her  shoulders. 
This  evident  distress  touched  the  housekeeper  with  com 
passion. 

"  There,  there,"  she  said,  "  I  did  not  mean  to  be  hard. 
Young  folks  will  be  young  folks — ha,  Jessup?  You 
and  I  can  remember  when  more  sweethearting  was  done 
on  the  sly  than  we  should  like  to  own  up  to ;  and  young 
Storms  is  likely  to  be  heir  to  the  best  farm  on  Sir  Noel's 
estate,  though,  I  must  say,  he  was  never  much  to  my 
liking.  These  sharp-faced  young  men  never  were. 
Mason  wras  of  full  weight  and  tallness,  or  he  never  would 
have  fastened  a  name  on  me." 

Ruth  was  no  longer  blushing  one  instant  and  paling 
the  next,  for  a  vivid  flush  of  crimson  swept  her  whole 
face. 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  godmother?"  she  ques 
tioned,  writh  a  little,  scornful  laugh,  which  irritated  the 
good  dame. 

"  What  am  I  talking  of?  Nay,  nay,  I  have  made  you 
blush  more  than  is  kind  already.  Never  heed  my  non 
sense.  It  is  natural  that  I  should  think  no  one  good 
enough,  and  feel  a  little  uppish  that  things  have  gone  so 
far  without  one  word  to  the  old  woman  that  loved  you  as 
if  you  were  her  own." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  can  you  mean,  god 
mother?"  cried  Ruth,  with  unusual  courage. 

"  Oh,  nothing.  The  news  was  over  the  whole  neigh 
borhood  before  I  heard  of  it ;  but  that's  nothing." 

"  What  news  ?     Do  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  that  young  Storms  and  my  goddaughter  would 
be  married  as  soon  as  friend  Jessup,  here,  is  well  enough 
to  be  at  the  wedding." 


282 

"  Father,  father,  do  you  hear  that  ?  Who  has  dared 
to  slander  me  so  cruelly  ?"  cried  the  girl,  bursting  into  a 
passion  of  tears. 

Jessup  was  greatly  troubled  by  his  daughter's  grief. 

"  Nay,  nay,  it  has  not  come  to  that  as  yet,"  he  said, 
"and,  mayhap,  never  will." 

"  Oh,  father,  how  good  you  are  !  " 

In  her  passionate  gratitude  the  girl  might  have  shaken 
the  wounded  man  too  sorely,  for  her  arms  were  around 
him,  and  her  face  was  pressed  close  to  his ;  but  even  then 
she  was  thoughtful,  and,  lifting  her  face,  said,  with  a  sort 
of  triumph : 

"You  see,  godmother,  how  impossible  it  is  that  this 
story  can  be  anything  but  scandal?" 

"  Scandal  ?  But  Sir  Noel  believes  it,"  answered  the 
puzzled  dame. 

"No!  no!" 

"But  he  does,  and  Lady  Rose  was  consulting  with  me 
this  very  day  about  the  present  she  would  give.  I  never 
saw  her  so  interested  in  anything." 

"  She  is  very  good,"  said  Ruth,  with  bitter  dryness. 

"Indeed  she  is.  A  sweeter  or  more  kindly  young 
lady  never  lived.  ( The  Rest '  wrould  be  gloomy  enough 
without  her." 

"  I  suppose  you  all  think  so  ?  "  questioned  Ruth,  with 
feverish  anxiety. 

"It  would  be  strange  if  we  did  not.  I'm  sure  Sir 
Noel  loves  her  as  if  she  was  his  own  child,  which,  please 
God,  she  will  be  some  of  these  days." 

"Godmother  !  godmother!  don't  make  me  hate  you!" 

"Hoity-toity!  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  I 
didn't  think  there  was  so  much  temper  in  the  child. 
Why,  she  is  all  afire !  Oh,  friend  Jessup !  friend  Jes- 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    VISIT.        283 

sup  !  this  comes  of  rearing  her  all  by  yourself!  If  you 
had  sent  her  to  me  at  'The  Rest/  a  little  wholesome  disci 
pline  would  have  made  such  rough  words  to  her  mother's 
friend  impossible ! " 

Ruth  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  held  out 
both  her  hands. 

"  Godmother,  forgive  me  !     I  am  so  sorry  !  " 

Mrs.  Mason  turned  half  away  from  that  imploring 
face. 

"  I  was  wrong — so  wrong." 

"  To  talk  about  hating  me.  The  child  she  laid  in  my 
bosom  almost  in  her  dying  hour.'7 

"  The  wicked,  cruel  child !  Oh,  if  you  only  knew 
how  sorry  she  is !  Godmother,  oh,  godmother,  forgive 
me  for  her  sake ! " 

Mrs.  Mason  wheeled  round,  and  gathered  the  penitent 
young  creature  to  her  bosom;  then  turning  her  head,  she 
saw  that  Jessup  was  greatly  excited  and  had  struggled  up 
from  his  pillow. 

"  There,  there !  Lie  down  again.  This  is  no  affair 
of  yours,"  she  said,  hastily  waving  her  hand,  which 
ended  in  a  shake  for  the  pretty  offender.  "  Can't  I  have 
a  word  with  my  own  goddaughter  without  bringing  you 
up  from  your  bed,  as  if  something  terrible  was  going  on? 
Looking  like  a  pale-faced  ghost,  too !  No  wonder  the 
poor  child  gets  nervous.  I  dare  say  you  just  worry  her 
to  death.'7 

"No,  no  !  godmother!  He  is  patient  as  a  lamb,"  cried 
Ruth.  "  Don't  blame  him  for  my  fault," 

"  Fault !  What  fault  is  there  ?  Just  as  if  a  poor  child 
can't  speak  once  in  a  while,  without  being  blamed  for  it. 
I  never  knew  anything  so  unreasonable  as  men  are — mag 
nifying  mole-hills  into  mountains.  There  now,  go  and 


284  NORSTON'S    REST. 

sit  by  the  window  while  I  bring  your  exasperating  father 
to  something  like  reason.  No  one  shall  make  you  cry 
again,  if  I  know  it." 

Ruth  went  to  the  window,  rather  bewildered  by  the 
suddenness  with  which  the  good  housekeeper  had  shifted 
the  point  of  her  resentment  to  the  invalid  on  the  bed. 
But  Mrs.  Mason  seemed  to  have  entirely  forgotten  that 
she  had  been  sharply  dealt  with.  Seating  herself  on  the 
bed,  which  creaked  complainingly  under  her  weight,  and 
settling  her  black  dress  with  a  great  rustle  of  silk,  she 
dropped  into  the  most  cordial  relations  with  the  invalid  at 
once. 

"  Better  and  getting  up  bravely.  I  can  see  that.  Sir 
Noel  will  be  more  than  glad  to  hear  it.  As  for  the  young 
master,  I  know  the  thought  of  you  is  never  out  of  his 
mind.  'When  shall  I  be  wrell  enough  to  walk  out?'  he 
says,  each  day,  to  the  surgeon.  '  There  was  another  hurt 
at  the  same  time  with  me,  and  I  want  to  know  how  he  is 
getting  on.7  r' 

"  Did  he  say  that,  did  he  ?  "  questioned  Jessup,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes ;  for  sickness  had  made  him  weak  as  a 
child,  and  at  such  times  tear-drops  come  to  the  strongest 
eyes  tenderly  as  dew  falls.  "  Did  he  mention  me  in  that 
way?" 

"  He  did,  indeed.     Often  and  often." 

"God  bless  the  lad.     How  could  I  ever  think — " 

Jessup  broke  off,  and  looked  keenly  at  the  house 
keeper,  as  if  fearful  of  having  said  too  much.  But  she 
had  heard  the  blessing,  without  regard  to  the  half-uttered 
conclusion,  and  echoed  it  heartily. 

"  So  say  I.  God  bless  the  young  gentleman !  For  a 
braver  or  a  brighter  never  reigned  at  'The  Rest/  since 
its  first  wall  was  laid.  Well,  well !  what  is  it  now  ? " 


THE    HOUSEKEEPER'S    VISIT.        285 

she  added,  addressing  Ruth,  who  had  left  the  window, 
and  was  stealing  an  arm  around  her  neck. 

"  Nothing,  godmother,  only  I  love  to  hear  you  talk." 

"  Well,  we  were  speaking,  I  think,  of  the  young  mas 
ter.  It  was  he  that  persuaded  me  to  come  here,  and  ob 
serve  for  myself  how  you  were  getting  on." 

"Did  he.  indeed?"  murmured  Ruth,  laying  her  burn 
ing  cheek  lovingly  against  the  old  lady's. 

"Yes,  indeed.  The  weather  is  over  warm  for  much 
walking ;  but  how  could  I  say  no  when  he  would  trust 
only  me?  { Women/  he  said,  'took  so  much  more  notice, 
being  used  to  sick-rooms/  and  he  could  not  rest  without 
news  of  your  father — something  more  than  '  he  is  better, 
or  he  is  worse/  which  could  only  be  got  from  a  person 
constantly  in  the  sick-room." 

"  How  anxious !  I — I —  How  kind  he  is  ! "  said 
Ruth. 

"That  he  is.  Had  Jessup  been  akin  to  him,  instead 
of  a  faithful  old  servant,  he  couldn't  have  shown  more 
feeling." 

Ruth  sighed,  and  her  sweet  face  brightened.  The 
housekeeper  went  on. 

"We  were  by  ourselves  when  he  said  this,  and  spoke  of 
the  old  times  when  I  could  refuse  him  nothing,  in  a  way 
that  went  to  my  heart,  for  it  was  the  truth.  So  I  just 
kissed  his  hand — once  it  would  have  been  his  face — and 
promised  to  come  and  have  a  chat  with  you,  and  see  for 
myself  how  it  was  with  Jessup.'1 

"  You  will  say  how  much  better  he  is." 

"Yes,  yes!  He  seems  to  be  getting  on  famously. 
No  reason  for  anxiety,  as  I  shall  tell  him.  Now,  Ruth, 
as  your  father  seems  quiet,  let  us  go  down  into  the  gar 
den.  I  was  to  bring  some  fruit  from  the  strawberry- 
beds,  which  he  craves,  thinking  it  better  than  ours." 


286  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"Go  with  her,  and  pick  the  finest/'  said  Jessup.  "I 
feel  like  sleeping," 

"  Yes,  father,  if  you  can  spare  me." 

The  housekeeper  moved  toward  the  door,  having  shaken 
hands  with  Jessup,  cautioned  him  against  taking  cold, 
and  recommending  a  free  use  of  port  wine  and  other 
strengthening  drinks,  which,  she  assured  him,  would  set 
him  up  sooner  than  all  the  medicines  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

EXCELLENT     ADVICE. 

"TT7~HEX  once  in  the  garden,  Mrs.  Mason  grew  very 

»  »  serious,  and  stood  some  time  in  silence  watch 
ing  Ruth,  who,  bending  low,  was  sweeping  the  greeu 
leaves  from  a  host  of  plump  berries,  clustering  red  ripe 
in  the  sunshine.  At  last  she  spoke,  with  an  effort,  and 
her  voice  was  abrupt  if  not  severe. 

"  Ruth,"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  thing  to  say  which 
troubles  me." 

Ruth  looked  up  wistfully. 

"  AVhy  is  it  that  you  try  to  keep  secrets  from  your 
sick  father?" 

"Secrets!"  faltered  the  girl. 

"  If  you  mean  to  wed  this  young  man,  why  not  say  so 
at  any  rate  to  your  own  father?  It  is  the  best  way  out 
of  this  difficulty." 

"  Difficulty!" 

"  There,  there !     I  can  see  no  use  in  all  this  blushing, 


EXCELLENT     ADVICE.  287 

as  red  as  the  strawberries  one  minute,  and  denying  it 
the  next.  Ruth,  Ruth  !  deception  and  craft  should  not 
belong  to  your  mother's  child.  I  don't  pretend  to  like 
this  young  man  over  much,  but,  under  the  circum 
stances,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  If  your  father  is  against 
it,  a  little  persuasion  from  Sir  Noel  will  set  all  that 
right." 

"What — what  do  you  mean,  grandmother?"  ques 
tioned  Ruth,  hoarse  with  dread. 

"  I  mean  to  stop  people's  mouths  by  an  honest .  mar 
riage  with  a  man,  who,  after  all,  is  a  good  match  enough. 
If  you  have  ever  been  uplifted  to  thoughts  of  a  better, 
it  has  come  from  too  much  notice  from  gentle  people  at 
'  The  Rest/  and  from  too  much  reading  of  poetry  books. 
But  for  that,  there  would  never  have  been  these  meetings 
in  the  park,  and  moonlight  flit-tings  about  the  lake,  to 
scandalize  people.  Think  better  of  it,  Ruth,  or  worse 
mischief  than  the  scandal  that  is  in  everybody's  mouth 
may  come  out  of  it.  Nothing  but  an  honest  marriage 
can  put  an  end  to  it." 

"Scandal!"  whispered  the  girl,  rising  slowly,  and 
turning  her  white  face  on  the  housekeeper.  "  What 
scandal ?  " 

"  Such  as  any  girl  may  expect,  Ruthy,  who  meets 
young  men  in  the  park,  and,  worst  of  all,  by  the  lake." 

"  The  lake !  The  park ! "  repeated  the  poor  girl, 
aghast  with  apprehension ;  for  every  walk  or  chance 
meeting  she  had  shared  with  young  Hurst  rushed  back 
upon  her,  with  accusing  vividness.  "  Who  has  said — 
who  has  dared?" 

Here  the  frightened  young  creature  burst  into  a  pas 
sion  of  tears.  The  walks,  the  chance  meetings,  each  a 
romance  and  an  adventure,  to  dream  of  and  hoard  up  ia 


288  NORS  TON'S    BEST. 

her  thoughts,  like  a  poem  got  by  heart.  Who  could 
have  torn  them  from  their  privacy,  and  bruited  them 
abroad  to  her  discredit?  In  what  way  would  she  deny 
or  explain  them?  More  and  more  pale  her  face  grew, 
and  her  slender  figure  drooped  with  humiliation. 

"There,  there,  little  one,  do  not  look  so  miserable.  I 
did  not  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings.  Of  course,  I  remem 
ber  you  have  no  mother  to  say  what  is  right  or  wrong. 
Only  this,  never  meet  the  young  man  again.  It  breeds 
scandal." 

Ruth  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"  I  know,  I  know  your  father  is  ill,  but  that  should 
keep  you  in-doors." 

"  Godmother,  I  do  not  understand.    How  is  it  possible?" 

"  It  is  not  possible  for  you  to  meet  him  in  out-of-the- 
way  places  without  casting  your  good  name  in  the  teeth 
of  every  gossip  in  the  village,  ^ay,  I  have  my  doubts 
if  the  young  man  has  not  helped  it  on,  else,  how  did  that 
brazen-faced  maid  at  the  inn  know  about  it,  and  taunt 
him  with  it  before  a  half-score  of  drinkers?" 

The  eyes  of  Ruth  Jessup  grew  large  with  wonder. 

"Among  drinkers!  He  at  the  public  inn!  God 
mother,  of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?  " 

"  Who  should  I  speak  of,  but  the  young  man  himself, 
Richard  Storms  ?  " 

As  a  cloud  sometimes  sweeps  suddenly  from  the  blue 
sky,  the  shame  and  the  fear  left  that  young  girl's  face. 

"Oh,  godmother,  were  you  only  speaking  of  him?" 

"  Who  else  should  I  be  speaking  of,  Ruth  ?  As  if  his 
name  and  yours  were  not  in  every  one's  mouth,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest." 

A  faint,  hysterical  laugh  broke  through  the  sobs  that 
had  almost  choked  the  girl,  and  alarmed  the  good  woman. 


EXCELLENT     ADVICE.  289 

"  There,  there,"  she  said,  "  only  be  careful  for  the  time 
to  come;  an  honest  marriage  will  set  everything  right. 
I  only  wish  the  young  man  were  of  a  better  sort,  and 
went  less  to  the  public ;  but  he  will  mend,  I  dare  say. 
That  is  right,  you  have  had  a  good  cry,  and  feel  better." 

Ruth  had  wiped  the  tears  from  her  face,  and,  after 
drawing  a  deep  breath,  was  stooping  down  to  the  straw 
berry-bed  again,  and  dashing  the  thick  leaves  aside  with 
her  hands,  was  gathering  the  fruit  in  eager  haste.  So 
great  was  her  sense  of  relief,  that  she  could  feel  neither 
resentment  nor  annoyance  regarding  the  scandal  that  had 
so  troubled  the  good  housekeeper.  Though  she  still 
trembled  with  the  shock  which  had  passed,  this  lesser 
annoyance  was  nothing  to  her.  In  and  out,  through  the 
clustering  leaves,  her  little  hand  flew,  until  the  great 
china-bowl,  into  which  the  gathered  fruit  was  dropped, 
brimmed  over  with  its  mellow  redness.  Meantime  the 
housekeeper  pattered  on,  bestowing  a  world  of  advice 
and  matronly  cautions  of  which  Ruth  never  heard  a 
syllable  until  the  name  of  her  lover-husband  was  men 
tioned.  Then  her  hand  moved  cautiously,  that  it  might 
not  rustle  the  leaves  as  she  listened. 

"  He  took  Mr.  Webb  up,  scornfully,  as  you  did  me, 
when  he  mentioned  the  gossip,  and  would  not  hear  of  it, 
calling  young  Storms  a  hind  and  a  braggart,  of  whom 
the  neighborhood  should  be  rid,  if  he  were  master.  So 
Webb  said  nothing  more,  though  his  news  had  come 
from  some  of  the  gamekeepers  who  had  seen  you  once 
and  again  in  company  with  the  young  man." 

The  blood  began  to  burn  hotly  in  Ruth's  cheeks. 

"  I  wonder  only  that  you  should  have  believed  such 
things  of  me,  godmother,  and  almost  scorn  myself  for 
caring  to  contradict  them,"  she  said,  placing  the  bowl  of 
18 


290 

strawberries  in  a  shady  place,  while  she  began  to  cut 
flowers  for  a  bouquet. 

By  this  time,  Mrs.  Mason  had  unburdened  her  mind 
of  so  many  wise  sayings,  and  such  hoards  of  good  advice, 
that  her  goddaughter's  indiscretions  seemed  to  be  quite 
carried  away.  She  was  weary  of  standing,  too,  and  seat 
ing  herself  in  a  rustic  garden-chair,  over  which  an  old 
cherry-tree  loomed,  waited  complacently,  while  Ruth 
flitted  to  and  fro  among  the  rose-bushes,  singing  softly 
as  a  dove  coos,  while  she  plundered  the  flower-beds,  and 
grouped  buds  and  leaves  into  a  sweet  love-language, 
which  her  own  heart  supplied,  and  which  he  had  studied 
with  her,  when  their  passion  was  like  a  poem,  and  flowers 
were  its  natural  expression. 

"He  will  read  these/7  she  thought,  clustering  some 
forget-me-nots  around  a  white  rose-bud,  which  became 
the  heart  of  her  sweet  epistle.  "  Let  him  only  know 
that  they  come  from  me,  and  every  bud  will  tell  him 
how  my  very  soul  craves  to  see  him.  Ah,  me,  it  seems 
so  long — so  long,  since  that  day.'7 

As  she  twined  each  flower  in  its  place,  a  light  kiss,  of 
which  she  was  half-ashamed,  was  breathed  into  it  as 
foolishly  fond  women  will  let  their  hearts  go  out,  and 
still  be  wise,  and  good.  Indeed,  the  fact  of  doing  it, 
proves  such  women  far  superior  to  the  common  herds, 
who  have  no  rare  fancies,  and  scorn  them,  because  of 
profound  ignorance,  that  such  gentle  follies  can  spring 
out  of  the  deepest  feeling. 

When  all  was  ready,  and  that  bouquet,  redolent  of 
kisses,  innocent  as  the  perfume  with  which  they  were 
blended,  was  laid,  a  glowing  web  of  colors,  on  the  straw 
berries,  Mrs.  Mason  prepared  to  depart.  With  the  china 
bowl  held  between  her  rotund  waist  and  the  curve  of  her 


THE  SERPENT  IN   HER  PATH.    291 

arm,  she  entered  into  the  shaded  path,  promising  Ruth 
to  deliver  both  fruit  and  flowers  to  the  young  master 
with  her  own  hands,  and  tell  him  how  well  things  were 
going  on  at  the  cottage. 

"  You  will  do  everything  that  is  kind,  godmother, 
that  I  know  well  enough  ;  only  never  mention  that 
dreadful  man's  name  to  me,  let  people  think  what  they 
will.  I  can  bear  anything  but  that." 

"First  promise  me  never  to  see  him  again  till  he 
conies  like  an  honest  man  and  asks  you  of  your  father." 

"  That  I  promise  ;  nor  then,  if  I  can  help  it.  Oh, 
godmother,  how  can  you  think  it  of  me?" 

The  good  lady  shook  her  head,  kissed  the  sweet  mouth 
uplifted  to  hers,  and  went  away  muttering, 

"  I  suppose  all  girls  are  alike,  and  think  it  no  harm 
to  keep  back  their  love-secrets.  I  haven't  forgot  how  it 
was  with  me  and  Mason.  How  many  times  I  met  him 
on  the  sly,  and  hot  tongues  wouldn't  have  forced  me  to 
own  it.  So,  thinking  of  that,  I  needn't  be  overhard  on 
our  Ruthy,  who  has  no  mother  to  set  her  right,  poor 
thing." 


CHAPTER    XLVI. 

THE     SERPENT     IN     HER     PATH. 

~TTT~HEX  Ruth  left  her  father,  he  was  overtaxed  by 
V  V  the  excitement  of  seeing  his  old  friend,  the 
housekeeper,  and  more  than  usually  disturbed  by  the 
drift  of  her  conversation.  Kind  of  heart,  and  generous 
in  his  nature,  he  could  not  witness  the  repugnance  that 
his  daughter  exhibited  to  the  marriage  he  had  arranged 


292  XORSTON'S   REST. 

for  her  without  tender  relenting.  Still,  no  nobleman  of 
the  realm  was  ever  more  tenacious  of  his  honor,  or  shrunk 
more  sensitively  from  a  broken  promise.  Languid  and 
weary,  he  was  thinking  over  these  matters,  when  some 
one,  stirring  in  the  hall  below,  disturbed  him. 

"  Ruth,  Ruth,  is  it  you?"  he  called,  in  a  voice  tremu 
lous  with  weakness. 

Some  one  opened  and  shut  the  parlor  door,  then  steps 
sounded  from  the  passage  and  along  the  stairs.  A  man's 
step,  light  and  quick,  as  if  the  person  coming  feared 
interruption. 

"Ruth,  Ruth,"  repeated  the  gardener. 

"  It  is  only  I,  Jessup,"  answered  Richard  Storms, 
stealing  into  the  room.  "  There  was  no  one  below.  I 
heard  voices  up  here,  and  took  the  liberty  of  an  old 
friend." 

"  You  are  welcome,"  answered  the  sick  man,  reaching 
out  his  hand,  which  had  lost  its  ruddy  brown  since  his 
confinement.  "I  think  Ruth  has  gone  out  with  Mrs. 
Mason." 

"  So  much  the  better  that  she  can  leave  you,  I  sup 
pose,"  answered  Storms,  still  holding  the  sick  man's  hand, 
with  a  finger  on  the  pulse,  while  a  slow  cloud  stole  over 
his  face.  "The  fever  all  gone?  Why,  man,  we  shall 
have  you  about  in  another  week." 

Jessup  shook  his  head,  and  laid  the  hand  he  released 
from  the  young  man's  grasp  on  his  breast. 

"  I  fear  not.     There  is  a  weakness  here,"  he  said. 

"And  pain?"  questioned  Storms,  eagerly. 

"Yes,  great  pain,  at  times;  but  you  must  not  say  as 
much  to  Ruth  :  it  would  fret  her." 

A  glitter,  like  that  of  disturbed  water,  flashed  into  the 
young  man's  eyes. 


THE  SEEPENT  IN  HER  PATH.    293 

"  Then,  as  to  the  fever/'  continued  the  sick  man,  "  it 
comes,  on  and  off,  with  a  chill,  now  and  then ;  not  much 
to  complain  of,  so  I  say  nothing  about  it,  because  of  the 
lass." 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing,  I  dare  say ;  but  the  people  in 
the  village  hear  that  you  are  quite  strong  again." 

Jessup  smiled,  a  little  sadly. 

"  So,  being  more  than  anxious,  I  dropped  in  to  have  a 
little  chat  with  you.  It's  hard  waiting  so  long,  when  a 
man  is  o'er  fond  of  a  lass,  as  I  am  of  your  daughter. 
One  never  gets  a  look  of  her  in  the  regular  way." 

"  Ruth  has  been  with  me  so  much,"  said  Jessup,  with 
a  feeble  effort  at  apology.  "  It  has  been  hard  on  her, 
poor  child." 

"  Yes,  but  you  are  so  much  better  now,  and  father  is 
getting  vexed.  He  thinks  Sir  Noel  is  putting  off  the 
new  lease  because  nothing  is  settled  about  the  marriage. 
Things  are  going  crosswise  with  us,  I  can  tell  you.  It 
will  never  do  for  us  to  put  matters  off  in  this  way." 

Jessup  was  greatly  disturbed.  He  moved  restlessly, 
clasping  and  unclasping  his  hand  on  the  coverlet  with 
nervous  irritation.  At  last  he  spoke  more  resolutely 
than  he  had  yet  done. 

"  Storms,  your  father  and  I  have  been  neighbors  and 
friends  ever  since  we  were  boys  together,  and  we  had  set 
our  minds  on  being  closer  still ;  but  Ruth's  heart  goes 
against  it,  and  I  cannot  force  her." 

Storms  drew  close  to  the  bed  and  bent  his  frowning 
face  over  the  sick  man. 

"  I  have  been  expecting  this.  Like  father  like  child. 
But  a  man's  pledged  word  isn't  to  be  broken  through 
with  by  a  girl's  whim ;  or,  if  so,  I  am  not  the  one  to  put 
up  with  it." 


294 

"  You  were  always  a  hard  one/'  answered  Jessup,  and 
a  little  strength  flamed  up  into  his  gray  eyes.  "  From 
a  child  you  were  that,  and  I  have,  more  than  once,  had 
misgivings;  but  I  did  not  think  you  would  be  bent  on 
marrying  with  a  lass  against  her  will." 

"  Yes,  I  would,  and  like  it  all  the  better,  when  her 
will  was  broken." 

Jessup  shrunk  down  in  his  bed.  There  was  something 
savage  in  that  stern  young  face  that  terrified  him. 
Storms  saw  the  feeble  movement,  and  went  on : 

"  Never  fear,  man,  I  will  find  a  way  to  bend  her  will, 
and  make  her  love  me  afterward." 

"  I  would  rather  have  her  placed  by  my  side  in  the 
same  coffin,"  answered  the  old  man. 

"You  take  back  your  word?"  repeated  Storms, 
savagely. 

"  Yes,  I  take  back  my  word." 

Storms  turned  on  his  heel,  and  without  a  syllable  of 
farewell  left  the  house.  He  paused  a  moment  under  the 
porch,  and  a  glint  of  Ruth's  garments  caught  his  eye,  as 
she  was  coming  down  the  shaded  wood-path,  after  part 
ing  with  Mrs.  Mason. 

Ruth  saw  him  coming,  and  stopped,  looking  around 
for  some  chance  of  escape,  like  a  bird,  threatened  in  its 
cage. 

There  was  no  way  of  escape,  however.  On  one  hand 
lay  a  deep  ravine,  with  a  brooklet  at  the  bottom,  and 
clothed  with  ferns  up  the  sides;  on  the  other,  wild 
thickets,  such  as  made  that  portion  of  a  park  called  the 
wilderness  picturesque. 

"  So,  sweetheart,  you  were  waiting  for  me.  I  thought 
it  would  come  to  that,"  said  Storms. 

Ruth  moved  on  one  side  without  answering.     Storms 


THE  SERPENT  IN  HER  PATH.     295 

could  see  that  a  shudder  passed  through  her  as  he  came 
near,  and  the  evil  light  that  had  almost  died  out  of  his 
eyes  when  they  fell  upon  her  came  back  with  fresh 
venom. 

"  So  you  think  to  escape,  ha !  You  shy  on  one  side, 
as  if  a  wild  beast  blocked  the  path.  Be  careful  that. you 
don't  make  one  of  me." 

"  Let  me  pass.  I  wish  nothing  but  that/'  faltered  the 
girl,  moving  as  far  from  her  tormentor  as  the  path 
would  permit. 

"  Not  till  we  have  come  to  an  understanding.  Look 
you,  Ruth  Jessup,  if  you  think  to  pull  me  on  and  off  like 
an  old  glove,  I  am  not  the  man  for  your  money." 

"  I — I  have  no  such  thought.  I  have  no  wish  to  see 
you  at  all." 

"  Indeed  !  "  sneered  the  young  man. 

"After  what  has  passed  it  is  better  that  we  should  be 
strangers ! " 

"  Nay,  sweetheart.  I  think  it  is  better  that  we  should 
be  man  and  wife." 

A  disgustful  shudder  shook  the  girl  where  she  stood. 

Storms  saw  it,  and  a  cold  smile  crept  over  his  face. 

"  That  is  what  I  have  been  telling  your  father." 

"  My  father !  Surely,  surely  you  have  not  been  tor 
turing  him ! " 

"  Torturing  him !  No.  But  we  have  come  to  an 
understanding  at  last." 

Ruth  grew  pallid  to  the  lips. 

"An  understanding !     How?" 

The  terror  that  shook  her  voice  was  triumph  to  him. 
At  least  he  had  the  power  to  torment  her,  and  would  use 
it  to  the  utmost. 

"  You  ask  ?  I  thought  you  might  know  what  manner 
of  man  old  Jessup  is,  without  asking." 


296  NOESTON'S   REST. 

"I  know  that  he  is  just  but  never  cruel." 

"Cruel!  Oh,  far  from  it.  Go  ask  him,  if  you 
doubt." 

"  Let  me  pass,  and  I  will,"  answered  the  girl,  des 
perately.  "At  any  rate,  he  would  not  sanction  your 
rudeness  in  keeping  me  here." 

"Rudeness!  Of  course  you  have  never  been  here 
before.  Oh,  no  !  I  haven't  seen  you,  over  and  over 
again,  watching  the  path.  Only  it  wasn't  rudeness  when 
he  came.  There  was  no  trembling  then — nothino-  but 
blushes." 

"  Let  me  pass,  I  say,"  cried  the  girl,  tortured  into 
courage,  "  if  you  would  not  force  me  to  tell  the  whole 
world  what  I  know  of  you.  Let  me  pass,  and  never 
dare  to  look  upon  me  again." 

Storms  started,  and  a  grayish  pallor  spread  over  his 
face.  What  did  she  know  ?  What  did  she  mean  ? 

Ruth  shrank  from  the  cowardly  glitter  of  his  eyes, 
and  wondered  at  the  sudden  pallor.  What  had  she 
said  to  daunt  him  so?  Directly,  the  coward  recovered 
himself. 

"And  what  would  you  tell?"  he  said,  with  forced 
audacity.  "Is  it  a  terrible  sin  for  a  man  to  stop  the  lass 
he  is  to  wed,  for  a  word  wherever  he  chances  to  find  her? 
What  worse  can  you  say  of  me  than  that?" 

Ruth  saw  the  dastardly  anxiety  in  his  face;  but  did 
not  comprehend  it.  He  seemed  almost  afraid  of  her. 

"  Is  it  nothing  that  you  force  your  company  upon  me, 
when  it  has  become  hateful  to  me?  Is  it  nothing  that 
you  harass  a  sick  man  with  complaints,  and  thrust  him 
back  with  unwelcome  visits,  when  he  might  otherwise 
get  well  ?  Is  it  manly  to  come  here  at  all,  when  I  have 
told  you,  again  and  again,  that  your  presence  is  the  most 
repulsive  torment  on  earth  to  me  ?  " 


THE  SERPENT  IN  HER  PATH.     297 

The  man  absolutely  laughed  again.  He  was  once 
more  at  ease.  Her  words  had  meant  nothing  more  than 
the  old  complaint.  Still  he  stood  in  the  girl's  path. 

"Why  will  you  torment  me  so?"  she  pleaded,  with 
sudden  tears.  "  What  have  I  ever  done  that  you  should 
haunt  me  in  my  trouble  ?  " 

"  I  only  give  you  trouble  for  hate,  harsh  acts  for  bitter 
words,  insult  for  insult.  You  can  stop  them  all  with  a 
word." 

"A  word  I  will  never  speak ! "  answered  the  girl, 
firmly.  "  Hear  me  once  for  all,  Richard  Storms.  There 
was  a  time  when  you  were  dear  to  me  as  a  playfellow, 
and  might  have  been  my  life-long  friend — " 

"Friend!"  repeated  Storms,  with  a  disdainful  fling  of 
the  hand.  "  You  might  say  that  much  of  a  hound." 

"  But  now,"  continued  Ruth,  desperately,  "  there  is 
not  a  thing  which  creeps  the  earth  that  I  loath  as  I  do 
the  sight  of  you." 

This  was  a  rash  speech,  and  the  most  bitter  that  had 
ever  burned  on  those  young  lips.  She  felt  that  on  the 
moment,  for  the  man's  face  turned  gray,  as  if  invisible 
ashes  had  swept  over  it.  For  a  while  he  stood  motionless, 
then  his  lips  parted,  and  he  said,  in  a  deep,  hoarse  voice, 
that  made  her  shrink  in  every  nerve, 

"  There  is  one  other  sight  that  shall  be  yet  more  loath 
some  to  you ! " 

Ruth  attempted  to  speak,  but  her  lips  clove  together. 
He  saw  a  paleness  like  his  own  creeping  over  her  face, 
and  added,  with  ferocious  cruelty, 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  is  ?  That  of  your  lover— 
of  the  man  who  has  stolen  you  from  me — in  a  criminal's 
box,  with  half  the  county  looking  on." 

If  the  fiend  had  intended  to  say  more,  he  was  pre- 


293  NORSTON'S    REST. 

vented,  for  the  poor  girl  sank  to  the  earth,  turning  a 
wild  look  on  his  face,  like  a  deer  that  he  had  shot. 

There  might  have  been  some  relenting  in  the  man's 
heart,  hard  as  it  was,  for  he  partly  stooped,  as  if  to  lift 
his  victim  from  the  earth ;  but  she  shrunk  from  his  touch, 
and  fell  into  utter  insensibility. 


CHAPTER    XLVIL 

NIGHT     ON     THE     BALCONY. 

66  T  MUST  see  him.     I  will  see  him.     No  one  will 
J-     tell  me  the  truth  but  himself.     I  must  know  it 
or  die!" 

Ruth  stood  alone  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  white 
as  a  ghost,  and  rendered  desperate  by  words  that  had 
smitten  her  into  insensibility.  How  long  she  had  lain  in 
that  forest  path  the  girl  scarcely  knew.  When  she  came 
to  herself,  it  was  with  a  shudder  of  dread,  lest  that  evil 
face  should  be  looking  down  upon  her;  but  all  was 
silent.  The  birds  were  singing  close  by  her,  and  there 
was  a  soft  rustle  of  leaves,  nothing  more.  She  lifted  her 
head,  and  with  her  hands  searched  for  marks  of  the  blow 
that  seemed  to  have  levelled  her  to  the  earth.  A  blow  ! 
She  remembered  now  it  was  a  word  that  she  had  sunk 
under — a  coarse,  cruel  word,  that  brought  a  horrid 
picture  with  it,  from  which  every  nerve  in  her  body 
recoiled. 

She  was  very  feeble,  now,  and  could  scarcely  walk.  It 
seemed  as  if  she  never  would  get  to  the  house ;  the  distance 
appeared  interminable.  She  could  not  keep  in  the  nar- 


NIGHT     ON     THE     BALCONY.  299 

row  paths  that  coiled  along  the  flower-beds,  but  wavered 
in  her  steps  from  weakness,  as  her  enemy  had  done  from 
wrath,  until  her  feet  were  tangled  in  the  creeping  flowers 
and  strawberry  vines. 

Her  father  was  lying  with  his  eyes  closed  when  she 
went  in,  and  a  smile  was  upon  his  mouth.  Even  in  his 
feeble  state,  he  had  found  strength  to  free  his  child  from 
a  hateful  alliance,  and  the  thought  made  him  happy. 
Ruth  stooped  down,  and  kissed  him  with  her  cold  lips. 
The  touch  startled  him.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  saw 
how  wan  and  tremulous  she  was. 

"  Do  not  fret ! "  he  said,  tenderly.  "  Why  should  you, 
darling  ?  I  have  scut  him  away.  I  have  told  him  that 
the  child  God  gave  to  me  shall  never  be  his ! " 

At  another  time  this  news  would  have  thrilled  the  girl 
with  unutterable  joy  ;  but  she  scarcely  felt  it  now.  The 
fear  that  a  marriage  with  Storms  might  be  urged  upon 
her  seemed  a  small  trouble,  while  the  awful  possibility 
he  had  fastened  on  her  fears  was  so  vivid  and  so  strong. 

"  I  thought  it  would  please  you,"  said  the  sick  man, 
disappointed.  "  I  did." 

"And  so  it  does,  father ;  but  we  will  not  talk  of  it  now. 
His  coming  has  tired  you,  and  I — I,  too,  am  wanting  a 
little  rest.  If  you  do  not  care,  I  will  go  away,  while  you 
sleep,  and  stay  in  my  own  room." 

u  There  is  wine  on  the  table.  Drink  a  little.  I  sup 
pose  it  may  be  shadows  from  the  ivy,  but  you  look  pale, 
Ruth." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  shadows,  but  I  will  drink  some  wine." 

She  poured  some  wine  into  a  glass,  and  drank  it 
thirstily ;  but  it  brought  no  color  into  her  checks,  and 
none  came  there  until  she  stood  in  the  porch,  after  night 
fall,  and  repeated  to  herself, 


300  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"  I  must  see  him !  I  will  see  him !  I  must  know  the 
truth,  or  die ! " 

This  resolve  had  made  her  stronger;  perhaps  the  wine 
had  helped,  for  she  was  not  used  to  it,  and  so  the  effect 
was  all  the  more  powerful.  At  any  rate,  she  drew  the 
hood  over  her  face,  wrapped  a  dark  mantle  about  her, 
and  went  out  across  the  garden,  into  the  path  of  the 
wilderness,  and  on  to  the  home  of  which  she  might  some 
day,  God  willing,  become  the  mistress.  When  she 
thought  of  this,  the  shadow  of  that  other  picture,  which 
had  taken  away  so  much  of  her  life  in  the  path  she  had 
trod  only  a  few  hours  before,  came  with  it,  and  that  which 
had  been  to  her  a  proud  hope  was  blotted  out. 

"  I  will  believe  it  from  no  lips  but  his,'7  she  thought, 
looking  out  from  the  shadows  at  the  vast  gray  building 
that  held  her  heart  in  its  chambers.  "  Oh,  that  I  knew 
what  was  in  my  father's  letter ! " 

She  left  the  shelter  of  the  park,  and  walked  cautiously 
across  the  lawn,  concealing  her  progress  as  best  she  could 
among  flowering  thickets,  or  a  great  tree  that  spread  its 
branches  here  and  there  in  forest  grandeur. 

She  entered  the  flower-thickets  under  that  window, 
the  only  one  she  cared  for  in  all  that  vast  building.  A 
faint  light  came  through  it,  softened  by  falls  of  lace, 
tinted  red  by  the  glow  of  silken  curtains,  and  broken  into 
gleams  by  the  ivy  leaves  outside.  Her  heart  gave  a 
wild  leap  as  she  saw  that  the  shutters  were  unclosed ; 
then  a  great  fear  seized  upon  her ;  some  person  might 
be  within  the  chamber,  or  lingering  in  the  grounds. 
Cautiously,  and  holding  her  breath,  she  crept  toward  the 
masses  of  ivy  that  wound  its  thick  foliage  up  to  the  bal 
cony.  If  it  stirred  in  the  wind  she  shrunk  back  terri 
fied.  Where  it  cast  deep  shadows  downward,  she  fancied 
that  some  man  was  crouching. 


WATCHING     HER     RIVAL.  301 

Still  the  girl  crept  forward,  her  anxiety  half  lost  in 
womanly  dread  of  being  misunderstood,  even  by  the 
beloved  being  she  sought.  But,  for  the  great  agony  of 
doubt  at  her  heart,  she  would  have  turned  even  then,  so 
strong  was  the  delicacy  of  her  pride. 

She  was  under  the  balcony  now,  behind  the  ivy,  which 
covered  her  like  a  mantle.  Up  the  narrow  steps  she 
crept,  and  crouching  by  the  window,  looked  in.  No  one 
was  moving.  A  night-lamp  shed  its  soft  moonlight  on 
a  marble  console,  on  which  some  wine  and  fruit  cast 
shadows.  In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  the  couch 
she  had  seen  but  once,  shaded  with  rich  silk  and  clouds 
of  lace,  snow-white  and  filmy,  seeming  to  cool  the  air,  it 
was  so  frost-like.  These  curtains  were  flung  back  at 
the  pillows,  and  there  she  saw  her  husband  in  a  sound 
sleep.  She  held  her  breath,  she  laid  her  face  close  to  the 
window.  Then,  with  impotent  fingers,  tried  the  sash. 
It  was  fastened  on  the  inside. 

What  could  she  do?  How  arouse  the  sleeper?  Impa 
tiently  she  beat  her  hand  on  the  glass.  Still  more  reck 
lessly  she  called  her  husband's  name. 

"Walton!    Walton!" 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

WATCHING     HER     RIVAL. 

ON  the  same  night  that  Ruth  had  taken  a  desperate 
resolve  to  see  her  husband,  Richard  Storms  was 
waiting  in  the  lake  house  for  the  coming  of  Judith  Hart, 
who  had  promised  to  meet  him  there.     The  presence  of 


302 

this  girl  in  the  neighborhood  had  at  first  been  a  great 
annoyance  to  him  ;  but  now  he  both  feared  and  hated 
her,  so,  coward-like,  cajoled  and  deceived  her  by  forced 
professions  of  love,  while,  with  the  same  false  tongue,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  such  hints  of  another  as  drove 
the  poor  creature  half  mad  with  jealous  rage. 

Though  her  presence  was  hateful  to  him,  he  dared  not 
offend  her  beyond  a  certain  point,  and  had  no  power  to 
drive  her  back  into  her  former  isolated  life;  or  in 
revenge  she  might,  as  she  had  often  threatened,  find  out 
Ruth  Jessnp,  and  give  both  her  and  the  father  a  good 
reason  for  forbidding  him  the  house  forever.  He  knew 
well  enough,  that  in  her  reckless  daring,  she  would  not 
hesitate  to  accuse  herself  of  any  offence  so  long  as  the 
odium  reached  him  also. 

Thus  shackled  in  his  desire  to  free  himself  from  the 
girl  altogether,  it  mattered  not  to  him  how  roughly, 
Storms  waited  for  her  at  the  lake  house  that  night, 
lying  at  full  length  on  the  bench  which  ran  along  one 
end  of  the  crazy  old  building. 

Judith  came  in,  at  length,  full  of  turbulent  excitement. 
She  had  been  walking  rapidly,  and  swept  through  the 
long  grass  like  a  rush  of  wind. 

"Ah,  you  are  here!"  she  said,  seating  herself  on  one 
end  of  the  bench  as  Storms  swung  his  feet  to  the  floor ; 
"  I  thought  you  would  be  waiting,  but  it  isn't  you  that 
oftenest  gets  here  first,  but  I  have  seen  some  one  you'll 
like  to  hear  about." 

"  Seen  some  one  ?   Of  course,  one  of  the  gamekeepers." 

"  No.     I  have  seen  that  girl,  Ruth  Jessup." 

"Ruth  Jessup  in  the  park  at  this  time  of  night? 
You  cannot  make  me  believe  that." 

"In  the  park  and   at  '  Xorston's  Rest/  down  upon 


W  A  T  C  II  I  X  G      HER     RIVAL. 

her  knees  by  a  window,  with  ivy  all  around  it,  looking 
in  upon  the  sick  heir  like  a  hungry  cat  watching  a 
canary." 

"  You  saw  this,  Judith— saw  it  with  your  own  eyes?" 
cried  Storms,  sitting  upright  on  the  bench. 

"  Saw  it !  I  should  think  so.  She  was  so  busy  trying 
to  open  the  window,  that  I  went  close  under  the  balcony 
and  could  see  her  face  plain  enough  by  the  light  that 
came  through  the  glass." 

"  Trying  to  open  the  window — did  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  again  and  again.  She  grew  desperate  at  last, 
and  shook  it,  calling  out,  <  Walton  !  Walton !" 

"She  called  that  name?" 

"  Yes,  more  than  once.  It  didn't  wake  the  young 
man  inside  though,  but  some  one  else  must  have  heard, 
for  the  door  opened  and  a  man  came  into  the  chamber  7 

"  What  did  she  do  then  ?  " 

"  Do !  Why  she  shrunk  back  and  came  down  some 
stone  steps  that  are  hid  away  in  the  ivy,  and  was  half 
across  the  flower  garden  before  I  dared  to  move." 

"  But  you  overtook  her  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  did;  though  my  feet  got  tangled  in 
with  the  ivy,  and  I  almost  fell  down  ;  but,  once  safe  on 
the  ground,  I  tracked  her  swift  enough,  for  she  seemed 
to  scorn  moving  beyond  a  walk." 

"  But  she  did  not  see  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can  move  quietly  enough  when  it  suits  me. 
So  she  knew  nothing  of  me,  though  I  longed  to  give  her 
a  sharp  bit  of  my  tongue." 

"  I'll  be  bound  you  did,"  said  Storms,  with  a  disagree 
able  laugh. 

The  girl  took  this  as  a  compliment,  and  gave  the 
hand,  which  was  dropped  listlessly  into  hers,  a  grateful 
pressure. 


304 

"'It  was  awful  ungrateful  of  the  young  gentleman, 
though,  to  be  so  sound  asleep/  I  was  longing  to  say.  If 
it  had  been  my  Richard,  now." 

"Did  you  think  to  say  that?"  cried  Storms,  starting 
up  in  sudden  wrath.  "  Would  you  have  dared  to  say 
that  to  her?" 

Judith  started  to  her  feet  also.  lie  had  jerked  his 
hand  from  hers,  and  stood  frowning  on  her  in  the  moon 
light,  while  defiance  kindled  in  her  eyes. 

"That's  just  what  I  would  'a'  been  glad  to  say ;  not  that 
she  would  have  cared  a  brass  farthing,  for  my  opinion  is, 
that  girl  hates  your  very  name,  for  all  your  talk  that 
she's  dying  for  you.  But  such  words  from  her  would 
have  been  red-hot  coals  to  me." 

"  Do  you  think  she  would  stoop  to  bandy  words  with 
such  as  you  ? "  said  Storms,  softening  his  wrath  into  a 
malicious  enjoyment  of  her  jealous  passion. 

"  Such  as  me,  indeed !  What  is  the  difference,  I 
should  like  to  know?  Only  this.  I  come  here  because 
you  ask  me  and  urge  me  to  it,  while  she  hasn't  the  cour 
age,  but  sits  worshipping  her  sweetheart  like  a  rabbit 
peeping  into  a  garden  it  has  not  the  spirit  to  enter." 

"  Worshipping  !  As  if  she  cared  for  the  man  ! "  said 
Storms,  with  supreme  disdain.  "  There  is  nothing  in  it. 
She  only  wants  to  make  me  jealous,  thinking  to  bring 
Jtae  back  again  in  that  way." 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  if  you  were  jealous." 

"Jealous!"  repeated  the  young  man,  growing  cautious 
on  reflection.  "As  if  I  cared  enough  for  Ruth  Jessup 
for  that ! " 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  answered  Judith,  as  if  talking 
to  herself;  "  but  when  I  ain,  it  will  be  a  dark  day  for 
one  of  us." 


WATCHING     HER     RIVAL.  305 

Storms  laughed. 

"Always  threatening  some  terrible  thing/'  he  said, 
"as  if  there  were  any  need  of  that;  but  how  came  you, 
my  own  sweetheart,  Judith  Hart,  to  be  wandering  about 
< The  Rest?'" 

"  I  saw  her  as  I  was  coming  this  way.  She  was 
standing  in  the  cottage  porch,  giving  frightened  looks 
around.  The  moon  was  not  up  yet,  though  it  is  climb 
ing  into  the  sky  now,  but  a  light  streamed  through  the 
passage,  and  I  saw  her  plain  enough.  Then  she  stole 
out,  as  if  in  search  of  some  one.  I  thought  she  was 
going  into  the  wilderness.77 

"Ah,  ha  !     Who  was  jealous  then  ?" 

"  Who  denies  it  ?  That  minute  I  could  have  killed 
her.  She  turned  toward  'The  Rest?  I  followed,  think 
ing-^ 

"  Thinking  that  I  might  come  that  way." 

"  Well,  yes.  I  did  think  just  that ;  and  followed  her 
softly  as  one  of  your  own  hounds  would  have  crept. 
When  I  saw  where  she  was  going,  the  fire  all  went  out 
of  my  heart.  I  could  have  cried  for  joy  that — that  it 
was  no  worse." 

"Still  you  hated  her!" 

"  Because  she  dared  to  love  where  I  did." 

"  Do  you  indeed  love  me  so,  Judith  ?  " 

"  Do  I  love  myself,  so  common  and  worthless,  com 
pared  to  you  ?  Do  I  love  the  air  I  breathe  ?  Do  I  love 
sleep,  after  a  hard  day's  work  ?  Oh,  oh,  Richard,  why 
ask  such  silly  questions  ?  " 

"Why?  Oh,  because  one  is  never  certain.  Girls  are 
so  fickle  now-a-days." 

"As  if  any  girl  who  ever  loved  you  could  be  fickle." 

Storms  looked  into  the  girl's  face  as  she  nestled  close 
19 


306 

to  him,  and  a  strange,  fond  glow  came  into  his  eyes. 
He  was  thinking  how  much  she  looked  like  Ruth  Jessup, 
with  that  warm  love-light  in  her  face — how  beautiful 
she  really  was  in  the  lustre  of  that  rising  moon.  Tender 
ness  with  him  at  the  moment  was  not  all  a  pretence. 
But  Storms  was  a  man  to  bring  the  worst  as  well  as  the 
best  passions  of  a  heart  down  to  his  own  interests,  and 
never,  for  a  moment,  since  he  had  seen  old  Jessup's  letter 
in  Judith's  hand,  had  he  ceased  to  devise  some  means  of 
gaining  possession  of  it. 

"  Words  are  so  easily  spoken/7  he  said;  "but  I  like 
deeds.  I  want  the  girl  I  love  to  trust  me.7' 

"And  don't  I  trust  you  ?  What  other  girl  would  be 
here  at  this  time  of  the  night,  risking  her  character, 
when  she  has  nothing  else  in  the  world,  just  because  you 
want  things  to  be  kept  secret,  while  I  can't  for  the  life 
of  me  see  the  reason  of  it?" 

"That  is  what  I  complain  of.  True  love  asks  no 
questions." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  when  you  have  done  nothing 
but  ask  questions  ever  since  I  came  here?  All  about 
her  too,"  retorted  the  quick-witted  girl. 

"  That  is  because  I  am  interested  in  everything  you 
do,"  was  the  prompt  answer.  "How  could  I  watch  here 
half  an  hour,  and  at  last  see  you  rush  in  so  wildly,  half 
out  of  breath  and  panting,  to  tell  all  that  you  had  seen, 
without  feeling  some  curiosity  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  can  understand  that." 

"  Then  there  is  another  thing." 

"  Well,"  said  Judith,  more  quietly ;  for  she  guessed 
what  was  coming.  "  What  is  it?" 

"  That  paper.  It  is  of  no  use  to  you,  and  might  help 
me  a  good  deal." 

"How?" 


WATCHING     HER     RIVAL.  307 

The  girl  spoke  seriously,  and  he  could  tell  by  her 
voice  that  her  lips  closed  with  a  firm  pressure  when  she 
ceased. 

"  It  might  help  me  about  the  lease." 

Judith  seemed  to  reflect  a  moment,  then  she  looked  up 
quietly,  and  said  : 

"  When  we  are  married,  Richard." 

"  Why,  child,  it  is  only  a  scrap  of  paper  that  no  one 
but  Sir  Noel  will  ever  care  for." 

"  I  know  that,  and  sometimes  wonder  you  are  so  sharp 
after  it.  My  arm  is  all  sorts  of  colors  yet  where  you 
grasped  it  after  that  race  down  the  banks  of  the  lake. 
If  the  game-keeper  had  not  come  in  sight,  I  don't  know 
what  might  have  chanced.  Oh,  Richard,  your  face  was 
awful  that  dav.  It  frightened  me  !" 

•/  O 

"  Too  much,  I  fear,  and  that  makes  you  so  obstinate. 
I  dare  say  that  yon  never  keep  the  bit  of  paper  about 
you?"  questioned  Storms,  with  a  dull,  sinister  look, 
which  was  so  perceptible  in  the  moonlight  that  the  girl 
shrunk  from  him  unconsciously. 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  I  never  keep  it  about  me,  and 
never  shall  till  we  are  wed." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  will  give  it  to  you,  as  you  crave  it  so  much,  and  in 
its  stead  take  the  marriage  lines.  If  it  were  worth  a 
thousand  pounds,  I  would  rather  have  the  lines." 

"A  thousand  pounds!  Why,  lass,  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  Who  ever  heard  of  giving  money  for  a 
scrap  of  writing  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  Only  you  wanted  it  so 
much,  and  if  you  were  to  play  me  false,  as  people  say 
you  have  done  with  many  a  sweetheart  before  me,  it  might 
be  put  to  a  bad  use." 


308 

"But  they  slander  me.  I  never  yet  betrayed  a  sweet 
heart,"  said  Storms,  eagerly. 

"  Then  it  is  true  that  Ruth  Jessup  was  the  first  to  give 
you  up.  No,  no,  do  not  say  it.  No  woman  on  earth 
could  do  that.  T  would  rather  think  you  false  to  her 
than  not.  The  other  I  never  could  believe — never." 

""Well,  believe  what  you  like;  but  do  not  come  here 
again  without  that  bit  of  paper.  I  did  not  fairly  read 
it." 

The  suppressed  eagerness  in  his  voice  aroused  all  the 
innate  craft  in  the  girl's  nature.  He  had  outdone  his 
part,  and  thus  enhanced  the  advantage  that  she  held  over 
him  to  a  degree  that  made  her  determined  to  keep  the 
paper.  In  her  soul  she  had  no  trust  in  the  man  ;  but  was 
willing  to  win  him  by  any  means  that  promised  to  be 
most  effectual.  Still  she  was  capable  of  meeting  craft  with 
deception,  and  did  it  now. 

"  Well,  if  I  think  of  it." 

Storms  read  the  insincerity  of  her  evasion,  and  seemed 
to  cast  the  subject  from  his  mind.  But  he  felt  the  thral 
dom  of  this  girl's  power  with  a  keenness  that  might  have 
terrified  her,  had  she  comprehended  it.  Besides,  the 
news  she  had  brought  to  him  that  evening  was  of  a  kind 
to  make  him  hate  the  bearer  and  intensify  his  thirst  for 
vengeance  on  young  Hurst. 


B  K  O  O  D  I  N  G     THOUGHTS.  309 

CHAPTER    XLIX. 

BROOD  IX G     THOUGHTS. 

4i  "TTTHAT  are  you  thinking  of,  Richard,  with  your 
•  V  eyes  wandering  out  on  the  water  and  your 
mouth  so  set?"  asked  the  girl,  after  some  moments  of 
silence  that  began  to  trouble  her. 

Storms  started  as  if  a  shot  had  passed  him. 

"Thinking  of —  Why  nothing  that  should  trouble 
you." 

"  But  you  don't  care  to  talk,  and  me  sitting  by  !  " 

"What  is  the  difference,  so  long  as  you  were  in  my 
mind?  I  was  thinking  that  there  might  as  well  be  an 
end  of  this.  We  could  have  the  matter  over,  and  no 
noise  about  it,  you  know." 

Judith's  heart  made  a  great  leap. 

"Were  you  thinking  of  that,  Richard?  Oh,  tell 
me!" 

She  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  leaning  her  elbow  on  the 
bench,  where  Storms  had  flung  himself  with  an  utter 
disregard  to  her  comfort.  Now  she  leaned  forward  till 
her  head  rested  on  his  bosom,  and  she  clasped  him  fondly 
with  her  firm,  white  arms. 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  that  now,  really,  darling?" 

Storms  did  not  actually  push  her  away ;  but  he  turned 
over  with  his  face  to  the  wall,  muttering : 

"  Don't  bother.     What  else  should  it  be  ?" 

"  Then  I  must  be  getting  ready,  you  know.  The  mis 
tress  must  have  warning,"  said  the  girl,  too  happy  for 
resentment. 

"The  mistress!     There  it  is.     You  cannot  expect  me 


310  NORSTON'S    REST. 

to  take  a  wife  from  the  bar-room.  No,  no  !  We  must 
manage  it  in  some  other  way." 

Judith  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  I  will  do  anything  you  tell  me — anything  at  all/'  she 
said.  "  Only  let  me  make  sure  that  you  are  as  happy  as 
I  am." 

"  Happy  !  Of  course  I'm  happy.  Why  not  ?  "  an 
swered  the  young  man.  "  Now,  you'd  better  be  going 
home.  It  is  getting  late." 

Judith  arose,  drew  her  scarlet  sacque  closer  around 
her,  pulled  the  jaunty  little  hat  over  her  eyes,  and  stood 
in  the  moonlight  waiting  for  her  lover.  He  arose  heavily, 
and  dropping  both  clasped  hands  between  his  knees,  sat 
in  the  shadow,  regarding  her  with  sullen  interest.  She 
could  not  see  his  face,  but  there  was  a  glitter  of  his  eyes 
that  pierced  the  shadows  with  sinister  brightness.  The 
picture  of  the  girl  was  so  vivid,  framed  in  the  old  door 
way,  with  that  deep  background  of  water  over  which  the 
moonlight  seemed  to  leap,  leaving  that  in  darkness,  and 
herself  flooded  in  light,  so  fearfully  vivid,  that  the  man 
•whom  she  hoped  to  marry  could  navel'  alter  ward  sweep 
it  from  his  brain. 

"  Come/'  she  said,  "  I'm  ready." 

"And  so  am  I,"  he  answered,  starting  up  and  dashing 
his  hands  apart,  as  if  a  serpent  had  entangled  them 
against  his  will.  "What  are  you  waiting  for?" 

"What  have  I  been  long  and  long  waiting  for?"  said 
the  girl ;  "  but  it  has  come  at  last.  Oh,  Richard,  say  that 
it  has  come  at  last." 

"Yes,  it  has  come  at  last,"  broke  forth  the  man, 
almost  savagely.  "You  would  have  it  so.  Remember, 
you  would — " 

"Why,  how  cross  you  are.  Was  it  I  that  first  made 
love?"'  ' 


BROODING     THOUGHTS.  311 

"  You  ?     Yes.     It  always  is  the  woman." 

"  Oh,  Richard,  dear — how  you  love  to  torment  me  ! " 

The  girl  took  his  arm,  as  she  said  this,  and  held  to  it 
caressingly,  with  both  hands,  while  her  eyes,  half-beam 
ing,  half-tearful,  sought  in  his  face  some  contradiction  of 
his  savage  mood. 

"  Is  the  torment  all  on  one  side  ?  "  he  muttered,  endur 
ing  her  caressing  touch  with  surly  impatience. 

"There,  Dick,  only  say  for  once  that  you  arc  happy. "] 

"Oh,  wonderfully  happy.  There,  now,  let  us  walk 
faster/7 

They  did  walk  on ;  now  in  the  moonlight,  now  in 
deep  shadow,  she  leaning  upon  him  with  fond  depend 
ence,  which  he  appeared  to  recognize,  though  few  words 
were  spoken  between  them. 

Once,  as  they  passed  a  sheltered  copse  half-way  be 
tween  the  lake  and  Jessup's  cottage,  both  saw  the  figure 
of  a  man  retreating  from  the  path,  and  knew  that  he  was 
regarding  them  from  under  covert.  Then  Storms  did 
meet  the  girl's  bright  glance,  and  they  both  laughed  with 
subdued  merriment. 

"He  is  following  us.  I  hear  his  step  in  the  under 
growth,"  whispered  Judith,  and  Storms  answered  back  : 

"Give  him  plenty  of  time." 

When  they  reached  Jessup's  cottage,  the  little  building 
was  quite  dark,  except  the  faint  gleam  of  a  night-lamp 
in  the  sick  man's  room.  At  the  gate  they  both  paused. 
Judith  turned  with  her  face  to  the  moonlight,  and 
offered  her  lips  for  the  kiss  Storms  bent  lovingly  to  give 
her.  Then  they  stood  together,  hand-in-hand,  as  if 
reluctant  to  part  for  a  minute,  and  he  went  away,  looking 
back  now  and  then,  as  if  anxious  for  her  safety;  while 
she  stood  by  the  gate  watching  him. 


312  NO  US  TON'S     REST. 

When  the  young  man  was  quite  gone,  Judith  opened 
the  gate,  without  even  a  click  of  the  latch,  and  stole  like 
a  thief  toward  the  porch,  which  was  so  laden  with  ivy 
and  jasmines  that  no  one  could  see  her  when  once  in  its 
shelter.  Still  she  shrunk  back,  and  dragged  the  foliage 
over  her,  when  the  gamekeeper  came  out  from  his  con 
cealment,  and  walked  back  and  forth  before  the  cottage. 
At  last  his  steps  receded,  and,  peering  through  the  ivy, 
Judith  saw  him  move  away  toward  the  lake.  Then  she 
stole  out  of  the  porch,  crept  with  bent  form  to  the  gate, 
and  darted  in  a  contrary  direction  with  the  speed  of  a 
lapwing.  Somewhat  later,  the  girl  stole  through  the 
back  yard  of  the  inn,  tried  her  key  in  the  kitchen  door, 
and  crept  up  to  her  room  in  the  garret,  where  she  care 
fully  put  away  her  outer  garments,  and  went  to  bed  so 
passionately  happy  that  she  lay  awake  all  night  with 
both  hands  folded  over  her  bosom,  and  the  name  of 
Richard  Storms  trembling  now  and  then  up  from  her 
heart. 


CHAPTER    L. 

YOUNG     HURST     AND     LADY     ROSE. 

TT  was  a  bright  day  at  "  Xorston's  Rest,"  when  the 
-A-  young  heir  came  from  his  sick-chamber,  for  the  first 
time,  and,  leaning  on  Webb,  entered  the  pretty  little  par 
lor  in  which  Lady  Rose  had  made  his  bouquet  the 
evening  he  was  hurt.  She  sat  waiting  for  him  now, 
demurely  busy  with  some  trifle  of  richly-tinted  embroid 
ery,  which,  having  a  dainty  taste,  she  had  selected,  I  dare 
say,  because  it  gave  a  touch  of  rich  color  to  her  simple 


YOUNG     HU3ST     AND     LADY     ROSE.      313 

white  dress,  looped  here  and  there  into  soft  clouds  by  a 
broad  blue  sash,  which  might  have  lacked  effect  but  for 
this  artistic  device.  Perhaps  the  invalid  understood  this, 
for  he  smiled  when  the  fair  patrician  just  lifted  her  eyes, 
as  if  his  coming  had  been  quite  unimportant  to  her,  and 
settled  down  into  one  of  the  loveliest  pictures  imaginable, 
working  away  at  her  tinted  silks  with  fingers  that  quiv 
ered  among  them,  and  eyes  that  no  whiteness  of  lid  or 
thickness  of  lash  could  keep  from  beaming  out  their  hap 
piness. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  this  fair  girl  would 
have  sprung  from  her  seat  and  met  him  at  the  threshold  ; 
but  now,  she  bent  lower  over  her  work,  fearing  that  he 
might  see  how  warmly-red  her  cheek  was  getting,  and 
wonder  at  it.  Indeed  he  well  might  wonder,  for  what 
word  of  love  had  he  ever  spoken  that  should  have  set  her 
heart  to  beating  so,  when  she  first  heard  his  uncertain 
step  on  the  stairs  ? 

All  at  once  the  young  lady  remembered  that  she  was 
acting  strangely.  Starting  up,  she  gave  him  her  place 
among  the  blue  cushions  of  her  own  favorite  couch;  then, 
sat  down  on  a  low  ottoman,  and  fell  to  work  again. 

"  How  natural  everything  looks  ! "  said  the  young  man, 
gazing  languidly  around.  "  I  could  be  sworn,  Hose,  that 
you  were  working  on  that  same  bit  of  embroidery  the 
day  I  was  hurt.77 

Lady  Rose  blushed  vividly.  She  had  snatched  the 
embroidery  from  her  work-table,  as  she  heard  him  com 
ing,  and  was  in  fact  working  on  the  same  leaf  in  which 
her  needle  had  been  left  that  day. 

"  AYe  have  all  been  so  anxious,77  she  said,  gently. 

"And  all  about  me — troublesome  fellow  that  I  am. 
It  may  be  fancy,  Lady  Eose,  but  my  father  seems  to 
have  suffered  more  than  I  have." 


314  NORSTON'S    BEST. 

"  He  lias,  indeed,  suffered.  One  month  seems  to  have 
aged  him  more  than  years  should  have  done,"  said  the 
young  lady. 

"Have  I  been  in  such  terrible  danger  then?" 

"  For  a  time  we  thought  you  in  great  danger,  and  were 
in  sad  suspense."  She  spoke  with  hesitation,  and  Hurst 
noticed  it  with  some  surprise. 

"Why,  Rose,"  he  said,  "it  seems  to  me  as  if  you 
had  charged,  also.  What  has  come  over  you  all?" 

"  Nothing,  but  great  thankfulness  that  you  arc  better, 
Walton." 

"And  do  you  care  so  much  for  me  ?  I  hardly  thought 
it,"  said  the  young  man,  a  little  sadly. 

"Oh,  Walton,  can  you  ask?" 

The  great  blue  eyes,  lifted  to  his,  were  swimming  in 
tears,  yet  the  quivering  lips  made  a  brave  effort  to  smile. 

A  painful  thought  struck  him  then,  and  his  heart  sunk 
like  lead  under  it. 

"  It  would  be  a  strange  thing  if  you  had  not  felt  anx 
ious,  Rose;  for  no  brother  ever  loved  an  only  sister  better 
than  I  have  loved  you." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  Hurst  was  watching  that 
fair  young  face  with  keen  interest.  He  saw  the  color 
fade  from  it,  until  the  rich  red  of  the  beautiful  mouth 
had  all  died  away.  Then  he  gathered  the  silken  cushion 
roughly  together,  so  as  to  shade  his  own  face,  and  a  faint 
groan  came  from  him. 

"Are  you  in  pain?"  questioned  the  young  lady,  bend 
ing  over  him.  "  Can  I  do  anything?" 

Her  breath  floated  across  his  mouth,  her  loose  curls 
swept  downward,  and  almost  touched  him. 

The  young  man  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  made 
no  answer.  He  was  heart-sick. 


YOUNG     HURST     AND     LADY 

And  so  was  she  even  to  faintness. 

He  lay  minute  after  minute,  buried  in  thought.  The 
young  lady  had  no  other  refuge  for  her  wounded  pride, 
so  she  fell  to  work  again ;  but  not  on  the  same  object. 
Now  she  sat  down  to  a  drawing  of  the  Black  Lake.  The 
old  summer-house  was  a  principal  object  in  the  fore 
ground,  and  the  banks,  heavy  with  rushes,  and  broken 
with  ravines,  completed  a  gloomy  but  picturesque  scene, 
which  had  a  wonderfully  artistic  effect. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there?"  questioned  Hurst,  after 
a  long  silence. 

"It  is  a  sketch  of  the  lake  which  I  am  trying  to 
finish  up  at  once,  in  case  pretty  Kuth  Jessup  takes  us  by 
surprise." 

There  was  something  in  the  girl's  voice,  as  she  said 
this,  that  made  Hurst  rise  slowly  to  his  elbow. 

"  Takes  us  by  surprise  !     What  do  you  mean,  Rose  ?  " 

"  Oh,  haven't  you  heard  ?  I  forget.  Webb  was  told 
not  to  disturb  you  with  gossip;  but  Ruth's  little  flirta 
tion  with  young  Storms  has  been  progressing  famously 
since  you  were  hurt,  and  I  am  thinking  of  this  for  a 
wedding  gift." 

"  For  a  wedding  gift !  Ruth  Jessup — young  Storms. 
What  romance  is  this  ?  " 

The  young  man  spoke  sharply,  sitting  upright,  his  face 
whiter  than  illness  had  left  it,  and  his  eyes  shining  with 
more  than  feverish  lustre. 

"I  do  not  know  that  it  is  a  romance,"  answered  Lady 
Rose.  "At  any  rate, 'I  hope  not.  Ruth  is  a  good,  sweet 
girl,  and  would  never  encourage  a  man  to  the  extent  she 
does,  if  a  marriage  were  not  understood ;  besides,  old 
Storms  was  here  only  a  day  or  two  ago  wanting  more 
land  included  in  his  new  lease,  because  his  son  thought 
of  setting  up  for  himself." 


316 


REST. 


"Setting  up  for  himself!  The  hound!"  exclaimed 
Hurst,  between  his  teeth.  "And  Sir  Noel.  I  dare  say 
he  gave  the  land.  He  has  always  been  exceptionally 
eager  to  portion  off  pretty  Ruth.  Of  course,  old  Storms 
got  the  lease." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  Lady  Rose. 

"But  I  mean  that  this  farce  shall  go  no  farther.  This 
man  Storms  is  a  knave,  and  should  be  dealt  with  as 
such." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  think  Ruth  Jcssup  does  not  believe 
this,  for  scarcely  a  night  passes  that  she  is  not  seeu  with 
him  in  the  park." 

"  Seen  with  him  !     What !     My—     With  him  ! " 

"  So  it  is  understood  in  the  servants'  hall." 

" The  servants'  hall!" 

Hurst  fairly  ground  his  teeth  with  rage.  Had  Ruth's 
good  name  fallen  so  low  that  it  was  a  matter  of  criticism 
in  the  servants'  hall  ? 

"You  know  Mrs.  Mason  is  her  godmother?" 

"Well!" 

"And,  of  course,  takes  a  deep  interest  in  the  matter. 
She  talks  all  her  troubles  over  with  Mrs.  Hippie,  and 
even  came  to  me  about  the  wedding  gifts.  Of  .course,  I 
took  an  interest.  Ruth  has  so  long  been  the  pet  of  the 
house,  and  I  love  her ;  that  is,  there  was  a  time  when  I 
loved  her  dearly." 

"Loved  her  dearly?  And  now  you  speak  with  tears 
in  your  voice,  as  if  that  pleasant  time  had  passed.  Why 
is  that,  Lady  Rose?" 

The  young  lady's  voice  sunk  low  as  she  answered, 

"I— I  think  we  have  both  changed." 

"But  there  must  be  some  reason  for  this.  What  has 
Ruth  done  that  you  should  shrink  away  from  her?" 


YOUNG     HURST     AND     LADY     ROSE.       317 

"  Perhaps  she  feels  the  difference  of  position/7  faltered 
Rose. 

"  But  that  has  changed  in  nothing,  at  least  in  her  dis 
favor/'  answered  Hurst,  flushing  red  with  a  remembrance 
of  that  day  in  the  little  church. 

"  She  was  so  dainty,  so  sweetly  retiring.  It  seemed  to 
me  impossible  that  she  could  ever  have  been  brought  to 
care  for  a  man  like  young  Storms.  Now,  that  it  is  so, 
can  I  help  feeling  separated?" 

"  By  Heavens !  Lady  Rose — "  The  young  man 
checked  himself  suddenly,  adding,  with  haughty  deci 
sion,  "  We  have  dropped  into  a  strange  discussion,  and 
are  handling  the  name  of  a  young  girl  with  less  delicacy 
than  becomes  me,  at  least.  Shall  we  speak  of  some 
thing  else  ?  " 

A  flood  of  haughty  crimson,  and  a  struggle  against 
the  tears  that  rose  in  spite  of  herself,  was  all  the  reply 
this  curt  speech  received  from  Lady  Hose.  The  poor 
girl  was  not  quite  sure  of  her  own  disinterested  judg 
ment.  For  the  world,  she  would  not  have  said  a  word 
against  Ruth,  •  believing  that  word  false ;  but  she  was 
conscious  of  such  infinite  relief  when  the  news  came  to 
her  of  the  engagement  between  Ruth  Jessup  and  Storms, 
that  the  joy  of  it  made  her  self-distrustful.  How  could 
she  be  glad  that  a  creature  so  bright,  so  delicate,  and 
thoroughly  well-bred,  should  be  mated  with  this  keen, 
sinister  man,  whom  no  one  loved,  and  who  was  held, 
she  knew  well,  in  little  respect  by  his  own  class?  Was 
she  willing  to  see  this  sacrifice,  that  her  own  jealous 
fears  might  be  appeased,  and  did  Walton  Hurst  suspect 
the  feelings  which  were  a  wound  to  her  own  delicacy? 
Were  his  last  brief  words  a  reproach  to  her  ? 

Tears  of  wounded  pride,  and  bitter  self-distrust,  rose 


318  XORS  TON'S    REST. 

to  her  eyes,  so  thick  and  fast,  that  the  lady  almost  fled 
from  the  room,  that  Hurst  might  not  hear  the  sobs  that 
she  had  no  power  to  suppress. 


CHAPTER   LI. 

THE    GODMOTHER'S    MISTAKE. 


Hurst  was  scarcely  conscious  that  he  was 
-*-  left  alone.  His  feeble  strength  was  taxed  to  the 
utmost.  That  one  burst  of  indignant  feeling  had  left 
his  breath  in  thrall,  and  his  limbs  quivering.  At  length 
he  became  conscious  that  Lady  Rose  was  gone,  and  start 
ing  up,  with  a  sudden  effort  of  strength,  flung  open  the 
glass  door,  which  led  out  upon  a  flower-terrace,  and  would 
have  passed  through  on  his  way  to  the  cottage,  for  his 
brain  w^as  all  on  fire,  but  that  Mrs.  Mason  stood  there 
chatting  to  one  of  the  tinder-gardeners,  who  was  trim 
ming  the  rose-bushes,  while  he  talked  with  her. 

"  Mercy  on  me  !  "  cried  the  dame,  breaking  off  her 
stream  of  gossip,  with  a  cry  of  amazement,  "if  there 
isn't  the  young  master,  looking  like  the  beautiful  tall 
ghost  of  his  own  dear  self.  Never  mind  cutting  the 
flowers  now.  I'll  be  back  for  them  presently." 

Young  Hurst  had  forced  his  strength  too  far;  a  swift 
dizziness  seized  upon  him,  and,  but  for  a  garden-chair, 
that  stood  near,  he  must  have  fallen  before  the  good 
housekeeper  reached  him.  As  it  was,  he  half  lay  upon 
the  iron  seat,  grasping  it  with  his  hands,  or  he  would 
have  entirely  dropped  to  the  ground. 

"  My  master!   My  dear  young  master!"  cried  the  good 


THE    GODMOTHER'S    MISTAKE.        319 

woman,  half-lifting  him  to  a  sitting  posture.  "What 
could  have  tempted  you  out  in  this  state?  No  wonder 
you  were  taken  faint,  and  this  the  first  time  down-stairs. 
There,  now,  the  fresh  wind  is  doing  you  good.  Dear  me, 
it  gives  one  a  pleasure  to  see  you  smile  again." 

"  The  air  is  sweet,  and  you  are  very  kind,  Mason.  I 
felt  so  strong  a  minute  ago ;  but  see  where  it  has  ended." 

"Oh,  that  is  nothing.  The  first  step  always  counts 
for  the  most.  To-day  across  the  terrace — to-morrow  in 
the  park!" 

"Do  you  think  so,  Mason?  Do  you  really  think  so?" 

"Think  so?  Of  course!  Young  people  get  up  so 
quickly.  If  it  were  me  now,  or  that  old  man  at  the 
garden  cottage,  there  would  be  no  telling." 

"  You  have  seen  him,  then  ?     Is  he  better?     Is  he — " 

"  Seen  him  ?  Of  course  I  have.  It  is  a  heavy  walk, 
but  Webb  told  me  how  eagerly  you  took  to  the  straw 
berries  ;  so  I  bade  Euthy  save  the  ripest  for  you  every 
morning;  not  that  she  needed  telling,  for  she  has  picked 
every  one  of  them  with  her  own  fingers,  and  the  flowers, 
too." 

"Indeed!"  murmured  the  young  man,  and  he  smiled 
as  if  the  strawberries  were  melting  in  his  mouth. 

"Yes,  indeed,  this  morning,  when  she  got  here  with 
her  little  basket  full,  her  fingers  were  red  with  them ; 
for  she  came  directly  from  the  beds,  that  you  might  have 
them  in  their  morning-dew,  as  if  they  would  be  the  bet 
ter  for  that,  foolish  child." 

"  Is  she  well?     Is  she  looking  well,  Mason  ?" 

"What,  Ruthy?  No;  I  can't  just  say  that.  With 
so  much  sickness  in  the  house,  how  should  she  ?  But  a 
rose  is  a  rose,  whether  it  be  white  or  red." 

"Docs  she  ever  inquire  about  me,  Mason?  We  used 
to  be  play-fellows,  you  know." 


320  KOBSTOlsS     BEST. 

"  Inquire  ?  As  if  those  great  eyes  of  hers  had  done 
anything  but  ask  questions ;  but  then  years  divide  people 
of  her  rank  and  yours.  Children  who  play  together  as 
equals  are  master  and  servant  as  they  become  men  and 
women,  and  my  goddaughter  is  not  one  to  forget  her 
place." 

A  faint  smile  quivered  over  Hurst's  lips. 

"  Ko,  she  is  not  one  to  forget  her  place,"  he  murmured, 
tenderly.  Then,  remembering  himself,  he  said,  with  an 
attempt  at  carelessness,  "But  is  there  not  some  foolish 
story  afloat  about  young  Storms  ?  That  might  trouble 
her,  I  should  think." 

"  Trouble  her  ?  Why,  the  child  only  laughs,  as  if  it 
was  the  most  maidenly  thing  on  earth  to  be  roaming 
about  with  the  young  man  by  moonlight  and  starlight, 
for  that  matter,  and  protesting  to  her  best  friends  that 
there  is  nothing  in  it ;  that  she  has  no  thoughts  of  marry 
ing  him,  and  never  leaves  the  cottage  on  any  pretence 
after  night-fall.  Of  course  young  women  think  such 
things  no  lies,  and  never  expect  to  be  believed ;  but  Ruthy 
has  been  brought  up  better,  and  need  not  attempt  to 
throw  sand  into  her  godmother's  eyes,  whatever  she  does 
with  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"You  speak  as  if  you  believed  all  this  nonsense," 
said  Hurst,  with  quick  fire  in  his  eyes. 

"Believe  it?  Why,  there  isn't  a  man  on  the  estate 
who  has  not  seen  them,  over  and  over  again.  Not  that 
there  is  harm  in  it,  because  old  Storms  and  Jessup  have 
agreed  upon  it  while  they  were  children,  and  Ruth  was 
ever  obedient.  Only  I  don't  like  her  way  of  denying 
what  everybody  knows,  especially  to  me,  who  have  been 
a  mother  to  her.  It  isn't  just  what  I  had  a  right  to 
expect,  now,  is  it,  Master  Walton?" 


THE    GODMOTHER'S    MISTAKE.        321 

"  I  cannot  tell ;  your  statement  seems  so  strange." 

"  Oh,  it  is  only  the  old  story.  Girls  never  will  tell 
the  truth  about  such  matters;  besides,  I  do  not  wonder 
that  my  goddaughter  is  just  a  little  shamefaced  about  her 
sweetheart.  He  isn't  one  to  boast  of  overmuch  ;  though, 
they  tell  me,  no  needle  was  ever  so  sharp  on  money. 
There  he  beats  old  Storms,  out  and  out.  Jessup  has  laid 
by  a  pretty  penny  for  his  child,  to  say  nothing  of  what  I 
may  do.  So  Ruthy  will  not  go  away  from  home  empty- 
handed,  and  one  may  be  sure  he  knows  it." 

"\Yalton  Hurst  broke  into  a  light  laugh,  but  he  became 
serious  at  once,  and,  looking  kindly  on  the  genial  old 
woman,  said, 

"  You  always  were  good  to  her,  God  bless  you  ! " 

"  Thank  you,  for  saying  so ;  but  who  could  help  it,  the 
pretty  little  orphan  ?  It  was  like  taking  a  bird  into  one's 
heart." 

"  It  was,  indeed,"  answered  Hurst,  thinking  of  himself, 
rather  than  the  old  woman. 

"And  then  to  think  that  she  must  fly  off  into  another 
nest.  Well,  well,  girls  will  be  girls.  Speaking  of  that, 
here  comes  my  Lady  Rose,  looking  more  like  a  lily  to 
my  thinking,  so  I  will  go  my  way." 

Mrs.  Mason  did  go  her  way,  leaving  the  young  man 
for  a  while  perfectly  alone,  for,  though  Lady  Rose  was 
hovering  about  her  own  pretty  boudoir,  she  did  not  come 
fairly  out  of  its  shelter,  waiting,  in  her  maidenly  reserve, 
for  some  sign  that  her  presence  out  of  doors  would  be 
welcome. 

Xo  such  sign  was  given  her,  for  Hurst  was  greatly 

disturbed  by  what  he  had  heard,  and  almost  frantic  with 

desire  to  see  Ruth,  and  hear  a  contradiction  of  these  base 

reports  from  her  own  lips.     Xot  that  he  doubted  her,  or 

20 


322 

gave  one  moment's  credence  to  rumors  so  improbable, 
but,  with  returning  health,  came  a  feverish  desire  to  see 
the  young  creature  for  whom  he  had  been  willing  to 
sacrifice  everything,  and  redeem  her,  so  far  as  he  could, 
from  the  snare  into  which  he  had  guided  her.  In  his 
hot  impetuosity,  he  had  involved  himself  and  her  in  a 
labyrinth  of  difficulties  that  led,  as  he  could  not  help 
seeing,  in  his  calmer  moments,  to  deception,  if  not  dis 
honor. 

"I  will  atone  for  it  all,"  he  said  to  himself.  "The 
moment  I  am  strong  enough  to  face  his  just  resentment, 
my  father  shall  know  everything.  God  grant  that  the 
disappointment  will  only  rest  with  him,"  he  added,  as 
his  disturbed  mind  turned  on  Lady  Rose  with  a  thrill  of 
compunction.  "  In  my  mad  haste  I  may  have;  but  no, 
no!  she  is  too  proud,  too  thoroughbred  for  a  grand  pas 
sion.  It  is  only  such  reckless  fools  as  I  am  that  risk  all 
at  a  single  throw.  But  Ruth,  my  sweet  young  wife,  how 
could  I  force  this  miserable  deception  on  her  ?  Had  I 
but  possessed  the  courage  to  assert  my  own  independent 
manhood,  my  dear  father  would  have  had  less  to  forgive, 
and  I —  But  no  matter,  I  have  made  my  bed,  and  must 
lie  in  it,  which  would  be  nothing  if  she  did  not  suffer 


Thus  the  young  man  sat  thinking,  while  Lady  Rose 
flitted  in  and  out  of  the  little  boudoir,  striving  to  trill 
soft  snatches  of  song  and  hide  under  music  the  anguish 
that  made  her  so  restless. 

Hurst  heard  these  soft  gushes  of  melody,  and  mocked 
his  previous  anxiety  with  a  smile. 

"  What  a  presumptuous  cad  I  am,  to  think  that  she 
will  know  a  regret,"  he  muttered,  with  a  sense  of  relief. 


SITTING     AT     THE     WINDOW.  323 

Lady  Rose  opened  the  glass  door,   and    looked  out 
smiling,  as  if  care  had  never  touched  her  heart. 

O' 

"  Shall  I  come  and  read  to  you?  "  she  said. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  rising.     "  I  will  come  to  you." 


CHAPTER    LIT. 

SITTING     AT     THE      WINDOW. 

UTII  JESSUP  had  no  courage  to  attempt  another 
-L\>  interview  with  her  bridegroom.  Every  morning 
she  made  an  excuse  to  visit  "  The  Rest"  with  fruit  from 
her  own  garden,  always  accompanied  by  the  choicest 
flowers  arranged  with  a  touch  of  loving  art,  which  he 
began  to  read  eagerly,  now  that  he  knew  from  whom 
they  came.  Once  or  twice  she  met  Sir  Noel,  who,  fcr  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  seemed  to  avoid  her.  The  pleasant 
greeting  which  her  rare  beauty  and  brightness  had  been 
sure  to  win  from  him,  no  longer  welcomed  her  ;  but  was 
enchanged  for  a  grave  bow,  and  sometimes — so  her  tender 
conscience  read  the  change — by  a  look  of  reproach. 
Lady  Rose  she  purposely  shunned  ;  partly  because  a 
sense  of  deception  hung  heavily  upon  her,  and  partly 
because  of  the  restless  jealousy,  which  sprang  out  of  her 
own  intense  love,  that  admitted  no  other  worshipper  near 
her  idol. 

Mrs.  Mason,  too,  had  taken  to  lecturing  her,  making 
her  discourse  offensive  by  constant  allusions  to  young 
Storms,  and  the  household  arrangements  which  must 
soon  be  made  at  the  farm.  No  denial  or  protest  left  the 
least  impression  on  the  'good  dame,  who  had  made  up 


324  xo  us  TON'S    REST. 

her  mind  that  such  things  were  to  be  expected  from  over 
sensitive  girls  like  Ruth,  and  must  not  be  set  down 
against  them  as  falsehoods,  being,  at  the  worst,  only  a 
forgivable  exaggeration  of  natural  modesty.  Besides, 
she  had  taken  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  the  young  man 
himself,  who  had  laughed  knowingly  when  she  told  him 
of  Ruth's  denial  of  all  engagement  between  them,  and 
replied  that  a  woman  of  her  age  ought  to  be  old  enough  to 
understand  that  a  girl's  "  no  "  always  meant  "  yes  "  when 
the  time  came.  For  his  part,  he  was  only  waiting  for  the 
lease  to  be  signed.  Anyway,  Ruth  would  set  no  day  till 
that  was  done,  and  no  blame  either.  So  if  Mrs.  Mason 
wanted  to  do  her  goddaughter  a  good  turn  and  stop  peo 
ple  from  talking,  she  had  better  help  that  on.  Every 
body  knew  that  she  had  great  influence  with  Sir  Koel, 
and  the  lease  was  all  that  was  wanted  to  make  things  go 
smoothly  between  him  and  her  goddaughter. 

Against  all  this  evidence  it  is  not  wonderful  that  the 
housekeeper  went  quietly  on  with  her  preparations,  and 
gave  no  heed  to  Ruth's  denials,  tearful  and  even  angry 
as  they  often  were. 

All  this  was  very  hard  on  Ruth,  who  found  herself 
miserably  baffled  at  every  point.  All  her  friends  seemed 
to  have  dropped  away  from  her.  Their  very  affection 
was  turned  into  mockery  by  persistent  disbelief  of  all  she 
said.  She  still  hovered  about  the  great  house  each  morn 
ing  as  a  frightened  bird  flutters  around  its  nest,  but  with 
little  chance  of  satisfaction,  for,  except  the  housekeeper's 
room,  all  the  establishment  seemed  closed  to  her. 

One  day  the  poor  girl  saw  her  husband  on  the  flower- 
terrace,  moving  slowly  up  and  down  among  the  roses,  and 
a  cry  of  such  exquisite  delight  broke  from  her,  that  Mrs. 
Mason  rose  from  her  easy-chair  and  came  to  the  window, 
curious  to  know  what  had  called  it  forth. 


SITTING     AT     THE     WINDOW.  325 

What  was  going  on  ?  What  had  she  seen  to  brighten 
her  face  so  ?  Had  the  sullen  old  peacock  at  last  spread 
himself,  or  was  she  wondering  at  the  great  bloom  of  roses? 
Something  out  of  the  common  had  happened  to  set  that 
pale  face  into  such  a  glow.  Would  Ruth  tell  her  what 
it  was? 

Iso,  Ruth  could  not  tell  her,  for  the  color  had  all  died 
out  of  her  face  while  the  old  woman  was  talking,  and  the 
glorious  show  of  flowers  had  turned  to  a  misty  cloud,  in 
which  a  beautiful  young  woman  was  floating,  angel-like, 
toward  her  husband,  and  he  went  to  meet  her. 

Lifting  both  hands  to  her  face,  Ruth  shut  out  the 
sight,  and  when  Mrs.  Mason  insisted  on  questioning  her, 
turned  upon  the  good  woman  like  a  hunted  doe,  and, 
stamping  her  foot,  declared,  with  great  tears  flashing  iii 
her  eyes,  that  nothing  was  the  matter.  Only — only  so 
much  watching  made  her  nervous,  hysterical,  some 
people  might  call  it;  but  that  did  not  matter.  Laughing 
and  crying  amounted  to  the  same  thing.  She  would  go 
home.  There  nobody  would  trouble  themselves  about 
her. 

With  this  reckless  burst  of  feeling,  Ruth  flung  herself 
away  from  the  outstretched  arms  of  her  half-frightened 
godmother,  and  ran  home,  sobbing  as  she  went.  Would 
this  miserable  state  of  anxiety  never  end?  Must  she  go 
on  forever  with  this  awful  feeling  gnawing  at  her  heart? 
Would  this  longing  for  protection,  this  baffled  tenderness, 
ever  meet  with  a  response?  Ah,  she  understood  now 
the  depths  of  God's  punishment  to  poor  Eve,  when  the 
angel  was  placed  at  the  gates  of  Paradise  to  keep  her  out. 
Was  Lady  Rose  chosen  to  guard  her  Paradise,  because  of 
the  sin  through  which  she  had  entered  it?  How  like  a 
glorious  angel  she  looked  in  the  soft  whiteness  and  tender 


326 

blue  of  garments  that  floated  around  her  like  a  cloud. 
How  bright  and  rich  were  the  waves  and  curls  of  her 
hair !  Surely  no  angel  ever  could  be  more  beautiful ! 

This  passion  of  feeling,  which  combined  so  many  ele 
ments  of  unrest,  was  thrown  into  abeyance  when  Ruth 
got  home ;  for,  looking  up,  with  her  hand  on  the  gate, 
she  saw  her  father  sitting  at  the  chamber- window  wait 
ing  for  her.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  crossed  the 
floor  since  his  illness.  The  thought  that  he  had  made 
the  dangerous  attempt  alone  struck  her  with  dismay. 

"Oh,  father,  how  could  you?"  was  her  first  anxious 
question  as  she  entered  the  room.  "  Have  I  been  gone 
so  long  that  yon  got  impatient?" 

"  No,  no  !  I  felt  better,  and  took  a  longing  to  look  on 
the  garden.  I  never  was  so  many  days  without  seeing  it 
before,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  think  it  has  done  me 
good,  child." 

"  I  hope  so.     I  hope  so,  father ! " 

"  See  how  well  I  walk.  Never  fear,  lass.  The  old 
father  will  soon  be  about  again." 

The  gardener  got  up  from  his  chair  with  some  diffi 
culty  and  walked  across  the  room,  waving  Ruth  aside 
when  she  offered  to  support  him. 

"  Nay,  nay,  let  me  try  it  alone,"  he  said,  with  feeble 
triumph.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  be  getting  down-stairs. 
I  only  hope  the  young  master  is  as  strong." 

"  Oh,  father,  he  is  better ;  I  saw  him  on  the  terrace 
this  morning." 

"Ah,  that  is  brave.  But  how  did  he  look?  Thin, 
like  me?" 

"  No,  not  like  you,  father.  He  was  always  more 
slender,  you  know  ;  but  I  think  he  was  pale." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  He  has  a  hard  bout.  Not 
this,  though,  and  I'm  thankful  for  it." 


SITTING     AT     THE      WINDOW.  327 

Jessup  put  one  hand  to  his  wounded  breast  as  he  spoke, 
and  Ruth  observed,  with  anxiety,  that  he  breathed  with 
difficulty. 

"  You  must  not  try  to  walk  again,  father,"  she  said, 
arranging  his  pillows  and  wiping  the  drops  from  his 
forehead.  "It  exhausts  yon." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  lass.  I  shall  be  all  the  stronger 
in  an  hour.  Why,  at  the  end  of  three  days,  I  mean  to 
walk  over  to  'The  Rest/  and  have  a  talk  with  the  young 
master." 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  you  could  ! " 

"Could?  I  will.  I  thought  he  would  have  answered 
my  letter  by  a  word,  if  no  more.  But  I  have  no  doubt 
he  is  o'er  weak  for  writing.  Anyhow,  we  shall  soon 
know." 

Again  Ruth  breathed  freely.  The  father  was  right. 
In  a  few  days  she  would  hear  directly  from  her  husband 
— perhaps  see  him.  If  he  wished  it,  as  she  did,  nothing 
could  keep  him  away,  now  that  he  had  once  gone  into 
the  open  air.  Surely  she  was  brave  enough  to  bear  her 
burden  a  little  longer. 

It  was  growing  dark,  now.  Jessup  had  been  at  rest 
most  of  the  time;  for,  in  his  feeble  state,  crossing  that 
room  had  wearied  him  as  no  journey  could  have  done 
in  health. 

Ruth  had  been  restless  as  a  caged  bird  all  day.  Her 
load  of  apprehension  regarding  her  father  had  been  re 
lieved  only  that  the  keener  trouble,  deep  down  in  her 
woman's  heart,  should  come  uppermost  with  new  force. 
Those  two  persons  among  the  roses  on  the  terrace 
haunted  her  like  one  of  those  pictures  which  the  brain 
admires  and  the  heart  loathes.  Was  not  this  man  her 
husband  ?  Had  he  not  sworn  to  love  her,  and  her  alone  ? 


328  NORSTON'S    REST. 

What  right  had  Lady  Eose  by  his  side?  How  dared 
she  look  into  those  eyes  whose  love-light  was  all  her 
own  only  a  few  weeks  ago  ?  Alas !  those  weary,  weary 
weeks!  How  they  had  dragged  and  torn  at  her  life! 
How  old  she  had  grown  since  that  circlet  of  gold  had 
been  hidden  in  her  bosom ! 

Euth  was  very  sad  that  evening, — sad,  and  strangely 
haunted.  It  seemed  to  her  that,  more  than  ever,  she 
was  waiting  for  some  great  catastrophe.  Black  clouds 
seemed  gathering  all  around  her;  difficulties  that  she 
had  no  strength  to  fathom  or  combat  seemed  to  people 
the  clouds  with  ruin.  Yet  all  was  vague  and  dreary. 
The  poor  child  was  worn  out  with  loneliness  and 
watching. 

All  at  once  she  heard  a  footstep.  Xot  the  one  she 
dreaded,  but  the  slow,  faltering  walk  of  some  person  who 
hesitated,  or  paused,  perhaps,  for  breath. 

Up  to  her  feet  the  girl  sprang,  leaned  forward,  and 
listened,  holding  down  her  heart  with  both  trembling 
hands,  and  checking  the  breath  on  her  parted  lips. 

The  door  opened  softly. 

'<  Birth!" 

She  sprang  forward,  her  arms  outstretched,  a  glorious 
smile  transfiguring  her  face. 

"  Oh,  my  beloved  !     My  husband  ! " 

She  led  him  to  the  little  couch  on  which  so  many 
bitter  tears  had  told  of  her  misery.  He  was  worn  out 
with  walking,  and  fell  upon  it,  smiling  as  she  raised 
his  head  from  the  cushions,  and  pillowed  it  on  her 
bosom,  folding  in  his  weakness  with  her  young  arms. 

"  It  may  kill  me,  but  I  could  not  keep  away.  Oh, 
my  darling,  how  I  have  longed  for  a  sight  of  you!"  said 
the  young  husband. 


DEATH.  329 

Ruth  gathered  him  closer  in  her  arms,  and,  forgetting 
everything  but  his  presence,  kissed  the  very  words  from 
his  smiling  lips. 

"Ah,  you  have  come.     It  is  enough  !    It  is  enough  !" 

Something  startled  her;  a  faint  noise  near  the  door. 
She  lifted  her  head,  and  there  stood  her  father,  looking 
wildly  upon  her — upon  him. 

Before  she  could  move  or  speak,  the  old  man  swayed, 
uttered  one  faint  moan,  and  fell  across  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER    LIIL 

DEATH. 

"T"YT"HTLE  Ruth  had  thought  her  father  resting  from 

V  V      his    dangerous   exertions,   that    poor   man    had 

been  aroused  into  keen  wakefulness  which  brought  back 

O 

all  his  old  powers  of  thought.  His  brain  had  been 
cleared  from  the  dull  mists  of  fever,  and  the  haze  that 
had  gathered  over  his  memory  was  swept  away  by  the 
physical  effort  he  had  made.  He  began  to  see  things 
clearly  that  had  seemed  fantastic  and  dreamlike  till  then. 
The  events  of  that  night,  when  he  received  his  wound, 
came  out  before  him  in  pictures.  The  great  cedar  of 
Lebanon,  the  face  he  had  seen  for  a  moment  gleaming 
through  the  darkness,  everything  came  to  his  memory 
with  the  vividness  of  thoughts  that  burn  like  lire  in  an 
enfeebled  brain,  driving  out  sleep  and  everything  but 
themselves. 

Slowly  and  surely  dreams  melted  away  into  nothing 
ness.     For,  in  the  state  of  nervous   excitement  which 


330 

sometimes  comes  with  returning  powers,  after  long 
mental  wanderings,  all  his  ideas  were  supremely  vivid. 

One  by  one  he  arranged  past  events  in  his  mind.  From 
the  time  that  he  met  young  Storms  in  the  park  on  his 
way  home  that  fatal  night,  and  received  the  first  cruel 
idea  of  his  daughter's  shame,  for  which  he  cast  the 
young  man  to  the  earth  in  his  rage,  as  we  wrestle 
with  a  mad  dog,  which  leaves  its  poison  in  our  veins. 
He  traced  events  down  to  the  moment  when  a  flash  of 
fire  seemed  to  pass  through  him  under  the  cedars,  and 
he  awoke,  helpless,  in  the  little  chamber  whose  walls 
enclosed  him  now.  Then  he  remembered  the  letter  he 
had  written  to  young  Hurst ;  hours  before,  he  could  not 
have  given  its  import,  or  have  repeated  a  word  of  it. 
But  now,  it  came  before  him  like  the  rest,  a  visible 
substance.  He  saw  the  very  handwriting,  uneven  and 
irregular,  such  as  he  had  left  in  copy-books  years  be 
fore,  and  it  rose  up  clearly  in  judgment  against  him 
now.  Reading  these  great,  uncouth  letters  in  his  mind, 
he  groaned  aloud. 

That  which,  in  his  fever,  he  had  resolved  to  keep 
secret  forever,  he  had  written  out  in  a  wild  effort  to 
spare  anxiety  to  another,  suffering  like  himself.  What 
if  that  letter  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  an  enemy? 
It  conveyed  a  charge.  It  hinted  at  something  that 
might  bring  terrible  suspicions  on  the  young  man  who 
had  been  dear  to  him  almost  as  his  own  child.  The 
evil  he  had  tried  to  prevent  had  been  drawn  ominously 
near  by  his  own  hand. 

The  old  man  lay  there,  wounding  himself  with  the 
most  bitter  reproaches.  Into  what  mad  folly  had  the 
fever  thrown  him ! 

William  Jessup  started  up  in  bed,  as  these  thoughts 


DEATH.  331 

came  crowding  to  his  brain.  He  would  at  once  redeem 
the  evil  that  had  been  done.  That  letter  should  be 
revoked. 

Yes,  he  would  do  it  that  moment ;  then,  perhaps,  he 
might  sleep,  for  the  intense  working  of  his  brain  was 
more  than  he  could  endure.  It  was  like  the  rush  and 
thud  of  an  engine,  over  which  the  master-hand  had  lost 
control. 

Ruth  Jessup's  little  desk  lay  open  on  the  table  close 
by  the  bed,  where  she  had  been  using  it.  Pen  and  paper 
lay  upon  it,  inviting  the  sick  man  to  act  at  once.  He 
was  still  wrapped  in  a  long  flannel  dressing-gown,  and 
his  feet  were  thrust  into  slippers,  which  the  hands  of  his 
child  had  wrought  with  scrolls  of  glittering  bead-work 
and  clusters  of  flowers — soft,  dainty  slippers,  which  made 
no  noise  as  he  dropped  his  feet  over  the  bedside,  and 
drew  the  table  toward  him  with  hands  nerved  to  steadi 
ness  by  a  firm  resolve. 

Truly,  that  great  hand  shook,  and  the  pen  sometimes 
leaped  from  the  paper  as  some  sharp,  nervous  thrill  for 
a  moment  disabled  it.  But  for  a  time  excitement  was 
strength,  and  to  that  was  added  a  firm  will :  so  the  pen 
worked  on,  linking  letter  to  letter,  and  word  to  word, 
until  the  white  surface  of  a  page  was  black  with  them. 
Then  he  turned  the  sheet  over,  pressed  it  down  with  both 
hands,  and  went  on  until  his  task  was  done. 

By  this  time  his  eyes  were  heavy  with  fatigue,  and  a 
dusky  fever-flush  burned  on  his  checks.  He  folded  the 
sheet  of  paper,  which  was  well  written  over,  and  directed 
it  on  the  blank  side  to  "  Walton  Hurst,"  then  he  pushed 
the  table  aside,  leaned  back  upon  the  pillow,  and  gave 
way  to  the  exhaustion  which  this  great  effort  had  brought 
upon  him.  Still,  the  poor  man  could  not  sleep,  the 


332 

brain  had  been  too  much  disturbed.  While  his  body 
lay  supine,  and  his  hands  were  almost  helplessly  folded 
in  his  flannel  dressing-gown,  those  deep-set  eyes  were  wide 
open,  and  burning  with  internal  fires. 

Thus  the  sun  went  down,  and  a  glory  of  crimson  gold 
and  purple  swept  through  the  window,  slowly  darkening 
the  room. 

All  this  time,  Ruth  was  below,  sad  and  thoughtful, 
gleaning  a  little  pleasure  from  the  fact  that  all  was  silent 
overhead,  which  indicated  a  long,  healthful  sleep  for 
her  father,  after  his  first  effort  to  cross  the  room.  She 
was  very  careful  to  make  no  noise  that  might  disturb 
the  beloved  sleeper,  and  thus  sat  hushed  and  watchful, 
when  the  sweet  shock  of  her  husband's  presence  aroused 
her. 

This  noise  had  reached  the  chamber  where  Jcssup  lay. 

"She  is  below,"  he  thought,  struggling  up  from  his 
bed.  "  This  very  hour  she  shall  carry  my  letter  to  '  The 
Rest.'  Will  she  ever  forgive  me  for  doubting  her,  my 
sweet,  good  child  ?  Ah,  how  did  I  find  heart  to  wrong 
her  so?" 

With  the  letter  clasped  in  one  hand,  and  that  buried 
in  the  pocket  of  his  dressing-gown,  the  old  man  moved 
through  the  dusky  starlight  that  filled  his  room,  and 
down  the  narrow  stairs  slowly,  for  he  was  weak,  and 
softly,  for  his  slippers  made  no  noise.  He  paused  a 
moment  in  the  passage,  holding  by  the  banister,  then, 
guided  by  an  arrow  of  light  that  shot  through  the  door, 
•\vhich  was  ajar,  stood  upon  the  threshold,  struck  through 
the  heart  by  what  he  saw — wounded  again  and  unto 
death  by  the  words  he  heard. 

"  It  was  true  !  it  was  true  !"  The  words  said  to  him 
by  that  vile  man  in  the  park  that  night  was  a  fact  that 


DEATH. 


333 


struck  him  with  a  sharper  pang  than  the  rifle  had  given. 
His  child— his  Ruth,  his  milk-white  lamb— where  was 
she  ?  "  Whose  head  was  that  resting  upon  her  bosom  ? 
Whose  voice  was  that  murmuring  in  her  ear?'7 

The  pain  of  that  awful  moment  made  him  reel  upon 
his  feet,  a  cry  broke  to  his  lips,  bringing  waves  of  red 
blood  with  it.  His  hands  lost  their  hold  on  the  door 
frame,  and  his  body  fell  across  the  threshold. 

For  a  moment  two  white,  scared  faces  looked  down 
upon  the  fallen  man,  then  at  each  other,  dazed  by  the 
sudden  horror.  Then  Ruth  sank  to  the  floor,  with  a 
piteous  cry,  lifted  his  head  to  her  lap,  and  moaning  over 
it,  besought  her  father  to  look  up,  to  speak  one  word,  to 
lift  but  a  finger,  anything  to  prove  that  he  was  not  dead. 

Hurst  bent  over  her,  feeble  and  trembling.  He  had 
no  power  to  lift  the  old  man  from  her  arms,  but  leaned 
against  the  door-frame  paralyzed. 

"  Oh,  wipe  his  lips,  they  are  so  red  !  Help  me  to  lift 
him  up,"  cried  Ruth,  with  woeful  entreaty.  "He  is  not 
dead,  you  know.  Remember  how  he  fainted  before,  but 
that  was  not  death.  Help  me !  Oh,  Walton,  help  me, 
or  something  dreadful  may  come  to  him." 

The  agony  of  this  pleading  aroused  all  that  remained 
of  strength  in  the  young  husband's  frame.  He  stooped 
down,  arid  attempted  to  remove  the  old  man  from  the 
girl's  clinging  arms. 

"No,  no!"  she  cried.  "I  can  take  care  of  him  best. 
Bring  me  some  brandy — brandy,  I  say  !  You  will  find 
it  in — in  the  cupboard.  Brandy,  quick — quick,  or  he 
may  never  come- to !  " 

Hurst  went  to  the  closet,  brought  forth  a  flask  of 

/  o 

brandy,  and  attempted  to  force  some  drops  between  those 
parted  lips,  through  which  the  teeth  were  gleaming  with 
ghastly  whiteness. 


334  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"  He  cannot  drink  !  Bring  a  glass.  Father  !  father ! 
try  to  move — try  to  swallow.  It  frightens  ine  so!  Ah, 
try  to  understand  !  It  frightens  me  so  ! " 

All  efforts  were  in  vain.  Hurst  knelt  down,  and, 
with  a  hopeless  effort,  felt  for  the  pulse  that  would  never 
beat  again. 

"  His  head  is  growing  heavier.  See  how  he  leans  on 
me!  Of  course,  he  knows — only — only —  Oh,  Walton  ! 
There  is  no  breath  !  "  whispered  the  poor  girl.  "  What 
can  I  do — what  can  I  do?" 

"  Ruth,  my  poor  child,  I  fear  he  will  never  breathe 
again." 

"Never  breathe  again!  Never  breathe  again !  Why, 
that  is  death  !  " 

"  Yes,  Ruth,  it  is  death,"  answered  the  young  man, 
folding  the  dressing-gown  over  the  body,  reverently,  as 
if  it  had  been  the  vestment  of  some  old  Roman. 

"  Then  you  and  I  have  killed  him,"  said  the  girl,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper.  "  You  and  I !  " 

The  young  man  made  no  answer,  but  kindly  and 
gently  attempted  to  remove  the  body  that  rested  so 
heavily  upon  her. 

"Not  yet — oh,  not  yet !  I  cannot  give  him  up  !  He 
might  live  long  enough  to  pardon  me." 

"If  good  men  live  hereafter,  and  you  believe  that, 
Ruth,  he  knows  that  concealment  is  all  the  sin  you  have 
committed  against  him/'  answered  Hurst,  gently. 

"  But  that  has  brought  my  poor — poor  father  here," 
said  the  girl,  looking  piteously  up  into  the  young  man's 
face. 

"  Ruth — Ruth,  do  not  reproach  me !  God  knows  I 
blame  myself  bitterly  enough,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"Blame  yourself?     Oh,  no!  I  alone  am  to  blame.     It 


was 
anc 


DEATH.  335 

as  I  that  tempted  you.     I  that  listened— that  loved, 

1  made  you  love  me.  Father— father !  Oh,  hear 
this!  Stay  with  us!  Oh,  stay  in  your  old  home  long 
enough  for  that !  He  is  not  in  fault.  He  never  said  a 
word  or  gave  me  a  look  that  was  not  noble.  He  never 
meant  to  harm  me,  or — or  offend  you.  I — I  alone  am 
the  guilty  one.7' 

"Ruth,  Ruth!  you  are  breaking  my  heart!"  whispered 
Hurst. 

"Breaking  your  heart!  Oh,  I  have  done  enough  of 
that,  miserable  wretch  that  I  am!"  answered  the  girl, 
speaking  more  and  more  faintly.  "  If  I  could  only  make 
him  understand  how  sorry  I  am;  but  oh,Walton!  I  think 
he  is  growing  cold.  I  have  tried  to  warm  him  here  in 
my  arms,  but  his  cheek  lies  chilly  against  mine,  and  my 
— my  heart  is  cold  as — as  his." 

The  head  drooped  on  her  bosom  ;  her  arms  slackened 
their  hold,  and  fell  away  from  the  form  they  had  em 
braced,  and  she  settled  down  by  her  father,  lifeless,  for 
the  time,  as  he  was — for  William  Jessup  was  dead.  A 
great  shock  had  cast  him  down  with  his  face  in  the  dust. 
Blasted,  as  it  were,  by  a  sudden  conviction  of  his 
daughter's  shame,  he  had  gone  into  eternity  as  if  struck 
by  a  flash  of  lightning. 


336  HOUSTON'S    REST. 

CHAPTER  LIV. 
THE    GARDENER'S    FUNERAL. 

A  FUNERAL  moved  slowly  from  the  gardener's 
house.  Out  through  the  porch,  under  the  cluster 
ing  vines  he  had  planted,  William  Jessup  was  carried  by 
his  own  neighbors,  with  more  than  usual  solemnity. 
His  death  had  been  fearfully  sudden,  and  preceding  cir 
cumstances  surrounded  it  with  weird  interest.  That  which 
had  been  considered  a  mysterious  assault,  which  no  one 
cared  to  investigate  too  closely,  now  took  the  proportions 
of  a  murder,  and  many  a  sun-browned  brow  was  heavy 
with  doubt  and  dread  as  his  friends  stood  ready  to  carry 
the  good  man  out  of  the  home  his  conduct  had  honored, 
and  his  hands  had  beautified. 

Many  persons  out  of  his  own  sphere  of  life  were  gath 
ered  in  the  little  cottage,  seeking  to  console  the  poor  girl, 
who  was  left  alone  in  it,  and  to  show  fitting  respect  to 
the  dead.  Among  these  were  Sir  Noel  and  his  household. 
Lady  Rose  came,  subdued  and  saddened  with  womanly 
pity.  Mrs.  Mason,  full  of  grief  and  motherly  anxiety, 
took  charge  within  doors,  pausing  in  her  endeavors  every 
few  moments  to  comfort  Ruth,  whose  sorrow  carried  her 
to  the  very  brink  of  despair. 

Many  people  came  from  the  village,  where  Jessup  had 
been  very  popular,  and  among  them  old  Storms,  who, 
with  his  son,  kept  aloof,  looking  darkly  on  the  crowd 
that  passed  into  the  dwelling. 

No  one  seemed  to  remark  that  the  young  heir  of 
"Norston's  Rest"  was  absent;  for  it  was  known  that  he 
had  taxed  his  strength  too  far,  and  was  now  paying  the 


THE  GARDENER'S  FUNERAL.   337 

penalty  of  over  exertion  by  a  relapse  which  threatened  to 
prostrate  him  altogether. 

In  the  throng  of  villagers  that  came  in  groups  through 
the  park  was  the  landlady  of  the  public  house,  and  with 
her  Judith  Hart,  who  was  too  insignificant  a  person  for 
criticism,  or  the  eager  excitement  of  her  manner  might 
have  arrested  attention.  But  safe  in  her  low  estate,  the 
girl  moved  about  in  the  crowd,  until  the  house  was  filled, 
and  half  the  little  concourse  of  friends  stood  reverently 
on  the  outside  waiting  for  the  coffin  to  be  brought  forth. 
Then  she  drew  close  to  young  Storms,  who  stood  apart 
from  his  father,  and  whispered, 

"  You  beckoned  me — what  for?" 

Storms  answered  her  in  a  cautious  whisper.  Nodding 
her  head,  the  girl  replied  : 

"  But  after  that,  will  you  come  to  the  public,  or  shall 
I—" 

"To  the  Lake  House,  after  the  funeral,"  was  the  im 
patient  rejoinder. 

"  I  will  be  there,  never  fear." 

With  these  words  Judith  glided  off  through  the  crowd, 
and  passing  around  the  house,  concealed  herself  in  the 
thickets  of  blooming  plants  in  which  the  garden  ter 
minated. 

From  this  concealment  she  watched  the  funeral  train 
file  out  from  the  porch  and  wind  its  way  down  the  great 
chestnut  avenue  on  its  course  to  the  churchyard.  She 
saw  Ruth,  the  last  of  that  little  household,  following 
the  coffin  with  bowed  head,  and  footsteps  that  faltered  in 
her  short  walk  between  the  porch  and  the  gate.  Wicked 
as  the  girl  was,  a  throb  of  compassion  stirred  her  heart 
for  the  young  creature  whom  she  had  so  hated  in  her 
jealous  wrath,  but  could  pity  in  such  deep  affliction. 
21 


338  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Slowly  and  solemnly  the  funeral  procession  swept  from 
the  house,  and  passed,  like  a  black  cloud,  down  the 
avenue.  The  park  became  silent.  The  cottage  was  still 
as  death,  for  every  living  thing  had  passed  from  it  when 
the  body  of  its  master  was  carried  forth.  Then  holding 
her  breath,  and  treading  softly,  as  if  her  sacrilegious  foot 
were  coming  too  near  an  altar,  Judith  Hart  stole  into  the 
house.  The  door  was  latched,  not  locked.  She  felt  sure 
of  that,  for,  in  deep  grief,  who  takes  heed  of  such  things? 
A  single  touch  of  her  finger,  and  she  would  be  mistress 
of  that  little  home  for  an  hour  at  least.  Still  her  heart 
quaked  and  her  step  faltered.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were 
on  the  threshold  of  a  great  crime,  but  had  no  power  to 
retreat. 

She  was  in  the  porch;  her  hand  was  stretched  out, 
feeling  for  the  latch,  when  something  dragged  at  her  arm. 
A  sharp  cry  broke  from  her ;  then,  turning  to  face  her 
enemy,  she  found  only  the  branch  of  a  climbing  rose 
that  had  broken  loose  from  the  kindred  vines,  whose 
thorns  clung  to  her  sleeve. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am ! "  thought  the  girl,  tearing  the 
thorny  branch  away  from  her  arm.  "What  would  he 
think  of  me?  There!" 

The  door  was  open.  She  glided  in,  and  shut  it  in 
haste,  drawing  a  bolt  inside. 

"  Bah !  how  musty  the  air  is !  With  the  shutters 
closed,  the  room  seems  like  a  grave.  So  much  the  better! 
No  one  can  look  through." 

The  little  sitting-room  was  neatly  arranged.  Nothing 
but  the  chairs  was  out  of  place.  Judith  could  see  that, 
through  all  the  gloom. 

"  Not  here,"  she  thought.  "  Nothing  that  he  wants 
can  be  here.  Her  room  first:  that  is  the  place  to  search." 


SEARCHING     A     HOUSE. 

CHAPTER    LV. 

SEARCHING     A     HOUSE. 

UP  the  crooked  staircase  the  girl  turned  and  shut 
herself  into  a  little  chamber,  opposite  that  in 
which  Jessup  had  suffered  his  days  of  pain — a  dainty 
chamber,  in  which  the  windows  and  bed  were  draped 
like  a  summer  cloud,  and  on  a  toilet,  white  as  virgin 
snow,  a  small  mirror  was  clouded  in  like  ice.  Even 
the  coarse  nature  of  Judith  Hart  was  struck  by  the 
pure  stillness  of  the  place  she  had  come  to  desecrate, 
and  she  stood  just  within  the  threshold,  as  if  terrified 
by  her  own  audacity.  "  If  he  were  here,  I  wonder  if 
he  would  dare  touch  a  thing?"  she  thought,  going 
back  to  her  purpose.  "I  wish  he  had  done  it  himself; 
I  don't  like  it." 

She  did  not  like  it;  being  a  woman,  how  could  she? 
But  the  power  of  that  bad  man  was  strong  upon  her,  and 
directly  the  humane  thrill  left  her  bosom.  She  was  his 
slave  again. 

"Something  may  be  here,"  she  said,  sweeping  aside 
the  delicate  muslin  of  the  toilet  with  her  rude  hands. 
"Ladies  keep  their  choice  finery  and  love-letters  in  such 
places,  I  know ;  and  she  puts  on  more  airs  than  any  lady  ( 
of  the  land.  Ah,  nothing  but  slippers  and  boots  that  a 
child  might  wear,  fit  for  Lady  Rose  herself,  with  their 
high  heels  and  finikin  stitching.  Such  things  for  a  gar 
dener's  daughter !  Dear  me,  what  is  the  use  of  a  toilet 
if  one  cannot  load  it  with  pincushions,  and  things  to  hold 
ear-rings,  and  brooches,  and  such  like  !  Nothing  but  boots 
— such  boots,  too — under  the  curtains,  and  on  the  top  a 
prayer-book,  bound  in  velvet.  Well,  this  is  something." 


340  NORS  TON'S    REST. 

A  small  chair  stood  by  the  toilet,  in  which  Judith 
seated  herself,  while  she  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the 
book,  and,  pausing  at  the  first  page,  read, 

"  Ruth  Jessup,  from  her  godmother.7 'J 

"Oh,  that's  old  Mason.  Not  much  that  he  wants 
here.  No  wonder  the  lass  is  so  puffed  up.  Velvet  books, 
and  a  room  like  this !  Well,  well,  I  never  had  a  god 
mother,  and  sleep  in  a  garret,  under  the  roof.  That's 
the  difference.  But  we  shall  see.  Only  let  me  find 
something  that  pleases  him  here,  and  this  room  is  noth 
ing  to  the  one  he  will  give  me.  Thin  muslin.  Poh  !  I 
will  have  nothing  less  than  silks  and  satins,  like  a  born 
lady.  That  much  I'm  bent  on." 

Flinging  down  the  prayer-book,  without  further  ex 
amination,  Judith  proceeded  to  search  the  apartment 
thoroughly.  She  examined  all  the  dainty  muslins  and 
bits  of  lace,  the  ribbons  and  humbler  trifles  contained  in 
the  old-fashioned  bureau.  She  even  thrust  her  hand 
under  the  snowy  pillows  of  the  bed,  but  found  nothing 
save  the  pretty,  lady-like  trifles  that  awoke  some  of  the 
old,  bitter  envy  as  she  handled  them. 

"  Now  for  the  old  man's  room.  Something  is  safe  to 
turn  up  there,"  she  thought,  conquering  a  superstitious 
feeling  that  had  kept  her  from  this  room  till  the  last. 
"  It's  an  awful  thing  to  ask  of  one.  I  wonder  how  he 
would  feel  prowling  through  a  dead  man's  chamber  like 
a  thief,  which  I  shall  be  if  I  find  papers,  and  taking 
them  amounts  to  that ;  but  he  would  give  me  no  peace 
till  I  promised  to  come." 

The  room  from  which  Jessup  had  been  carried  out 
was  in  chilling  order.  A  fine  linen  sheet  lay  on  the  bed, 
turned  back  in  a  large  wave  as  it  had  been  removed  from 
the  body  when  it  was  placed  in  the  coffin.  A  hot-house 


SEARCHING     A     HOUSE.  341 

plant  stood  on  the  window-sill,  perishing  for  want  of 
water.  The  stand  upon  which  Ruth's  desk  was  placed 
had  been  set  away  in  a  corner,  and  to  this  Judith  went 
at  once.  She  found  nothing,  however,  save  a  few  scraps 
of  paper,  containing  some  date,  or  a  verse  of  poetry  that 
seemed  copied  from  memory  ;  two  or  three  sheets  of  note- 
paper  had  a  word  or  two  written  on  them,  as  if  an  im 
pulse  to  write  had  seized  upon  the  owner,  but  was  given 
up  with  the  first  words,  which  were  invariably,  "  My 
dear — "  The  next  word  seemed  hard  to  guess  at,  for  it 
never  found  its  way  to  paper ;  so  Judith  discovered  noth 
ing  in  her  pillage  of  Ruth's  desk,  and  the  failure  made 
her  angry. 

"  He'll  never  believe  I  looked  thoroughly,  though 
what  I  am  to  find,  goodness  only  knows.  Every  written 
paper  that  I  lay  my  hands  on  must  be  brought  to  him. 
That  is  what  he  said,  and  what  I  am  to  do.  But  written 
papers  ain't  to  be  expected  in  a  house  like  this,  I  should 
say.  How  am  I  to  get  what  isn't  here,  that's  the  ques 
tion?  Anyway,  I'll  make  a  good  search.  Not  much 
chance  here,  but  there's  no  harm  in  looking." 

Judith  flung  the  closet-door  open,  and  peered  in,  still 
muttering  to  herself, 

"Nothing  but  clothes.  Jessup's  fustian-coat.  Poor 
old  fellow !  He'll  never  wear  it  again.  His  Sunday- 
suit,  too,  just  as  he  left  it  hanging.  No  shelf,  no — 
Stay,  here  is  something  on  the  floor.  Who  knows  what 
may  be  under  it?" 

Judith  stooped  down,  and  drew  a  long  garment  of 
gray  flannel  from  the  closet,  where  it  seemed  to  have 
been  cast  down  in  haste.  It  was  Jessup's  dressing-gown, 
which  had  been  taken  from  him  after  death. 

"Nothing   but  the    poor   old    fellow's   clothes,"   she 


342 

thought,  growing  pale  and  chilly,  from  some  remembrance 
that  possessed  her  at  the  sight  of  those  empty  garments. 
"  I  will  throw  the  old  dressing-gown  back,  and  give  it 
up.  The  sight  of  them  makes  me  sick.  "Well,  I've 
searched  and  searched.  What  more  can  he  want  of  me?" 

Judith  Hart  gathered  up  the  dressing-gown  in  her 
hands,  and  was  about  to  replace  it,  when  a  folded  paper 
dropped  to  her  feet.  She  snatched  the  paper,  thrust  the 
dressing-gown  back  to  the  closet,  and  turned  to  a  win 
dow,  unfolding  her  prize  as  she  went. 

"His  writing.  The  same  great  hooked  letters,  the 
same  hard  work  in  writing !  '  To  Walton  Hurst/  It 
might  be  the  same,  only  there  is  more  of  it,  and  the  lines 
ain't  quite  so  scraggly."  Even  as  she  talked,  Judith 
held  Jessup's  letter  to  an  opening  in  the  shutter,  and 
read  it  eagerly. 

More  than  once  Judith  read  the  letter  that  Jessnp  had 
written  with  his  last  dying  strength,  at  first  with  sur 
prise  deepening  into  terror  as  she  went  on.  Then  she 
fell  into  solemn  thoughtfulness.  Being  a  creature  of  vivid 
imagination,  she  could  not  stand  in  that  death-chamber 
with  a  writing  purloined  from  the  murdered  man's  gar 
ments  in  her  hand  without  a  shiver  of  dread  running 
through  all  her  frame. 

In  truth,  she  was  fearfully  disturbed,  and  the  very 
blood  turned  cold  as  it  left  her  face  when  she  thrust  the 
paper  into  her  bosom,  shrinking  from  it  with  shudder- 
ings  all  the  time. 

After  this,  she  remained  some  minutes  by  the  window, 
lost  in  thoughts  that  revealed  themselves  plainer  than 
language  as  they  passed  over  her  mobile  features. 

Then  a  sound,  far  down  in  the  park,  startled  her  and 
she  left  the  house  absorbed  and  saddened.  It  was  well 


HOPEFULNESS.  343 

for  her  chances  of  escape  that  the  girl  left  Jessnp's  cot 
tage  at  once ;  for  she  was  hardly  out  of  sight  when  a 
group  of  neighbors  from  the  funeral  cortege  came  back, 
haunting  those  rooms  with  sorrowful  countenances,  and 
striving  with  great  kindness  to  win  the  lone  girl,  thus 
suddenly  made  an  orphan,  from  the  terrible  grief  into 
which  she  had  fallen. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

HOPEFULNESS. 

A  MONG  the  persons  who  had  come  to  the  gardener's 
-£jL  funeral  old  Mrs.  Storms  was  most  conspicuous, 
not  only  from  her  high  position  among  the  tenants,  but 
because  of  the  relations  her  son  was  supposed  to  hold 
with  the  daughter,  who  was  beloved  by  them  all.  After 
the  funeral  several  neighbors  offered  to  stay  with  Ruth, 
but  in  her  wild  wretchedness  she  refused  them  all — kindly, 
sweetly,  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  do,  but  with  a  posi- 
tiveness  that  admitted  of  no  further  urgency. 

Even  Mrs.  Mason,  who  now  considered  herself  as 
something  more  than  friend  or  godmother,  felt  con 
strained  to  go  away  and  leave  the  poor  girl  to  the  isola 
tion  she  pleaded  for ;  though  with  some  little  resentment 
at  the  bottom  of  her  kind  heart. 

Mrs.  Storms  was  not  to  be  dissuaded  from  all  kindli 
ness  so  easily.  When  the  neighbors  were  gone  she  came 
into  the  room  where  Ruth  was  sitting,  and  in  a  gentle, 
motherly  fashion,  sat  down  by  the  mourner  and  strove 
to  comfort  her. 


344 

f  "Come/'  she  said,  taking  the  girl's  cold  hands  in 
the  clasp  of  her  hard-working  fingers,  "cornc,  lass, 
and  stay  with  me.  This  house  is  so  full  of  gloom  that 
you  will  pine  to  death  in  it.  Our  home  is  large,  and 
bright  with  sunshine.  You  shall  have  the  lady's 
chamber,  which  will  be  all  your  own  some  blessed  day, 
God  willing." 

The  good  woman  caught  her  breath  here,  for  some 
thing  like  an  electric  shock  flashed  through  the  hands 
she  clasped,  and  Ruth  made  a  struggle  to  free  herself 
from  the  thraldom  of  kindness  that  was  torturing  her. 

O 

"I  know — I  know  this  isn't  the  time  to  speak  of  wed 
dings;  but  you  have  no  mother,  and  I  never  had  a  girl 
in  the  house;  so  if  you  would  only  come  now,  and  be 
company  for  me — only  company  for  the  old  woman — it 
would  be  better  and  happier  for  us  all." 

Ruth  did  not  answer  this  loving  appeal.  She  only 
closed  her  eyes  and  shuddered  faintly.  Great  emotions 
had  exhausted  themselves  with  her. 

"Be  sure,  Ruth,  it  is  not  my  son  alone  who  loves  you. 
From  the  first  I  have  always  looked  upon  you  as  my 
own  lass,  and  a  prettier  no  mother  need  want,  or  a  better, 
either." 

"No,  no,  you  must  not  say  that,"  Ruth  cried  out;  for 
the  anguish  of  these  praises  was  more  than  she  could 
bear.  "He  thought  me  pretty — lie  thought  me  good, 
and  how  have  I  repaid  him?  Oh,  my  father,  my  poor 
dead  father,  it  was  love  for  me  that  killed  him  ! " 

Mrs.  Storms  was  silent  a  while.  She  understood  this 
piteous  outcry  as  a  burst  of  natural  grief,  and  gave  it  no 
deeper  significance;  but  she  felt  the  task  of  comforting 
the  poor  girl  more  difficult  than  she  had  imagined. 
What  could  she  say  that  would  not  call  forth  some  new 


A    MOTHER'S    HOPEFULNESS.         345 

cause  of  agitation  ?  The  subject  which  she  had  fondly 
trusted  in  seemed  to  give  nothing  but  pain.  Yet  no 
hint  had  ever  reached  the  woman  that  the  attachment 
of  her  son  was  not  more  than  returned  by  this  or 
phaned  girl.  Perhaps  Ruth  was  wounded  that  Richard 
was  not  there  in  place  of  his  mother.  "With  this  pos 
sibility  in  her  mind  the  matron  renewed  her  kindly 
entreaties. 

"You  must  not  think  it  strange,  dear,  that  Richard 
left  the  funeral  without  coming  back  to  the  cottage.  It 
was  that  his  heart  was'  full  of  the  great  trouble,  and  he 
would  not  darken  the  cottage  with  more  than  you  could 
bear.  The  father,  too — for  you  must  think  of  him  as 
that,  dear  child — has  well  nigh  broke  his  heart  over  the 
loss  of  his  old  friend.  He's  eager  as  can  be  to  have  a 
daughter  in  the  house,  and  will  be  good  as  gold  to  her.'* 

Ruth  did  not  listen  to  the  subject  of  these  words,  but 
the  kindly  voice  soothed  her.  This  old  housewife  had 
been  a  good  friend  to  her  ever  since  she  could  remember, 
and  was  trying  to  comfort  her  now,  as  if  anything  ap 
proaching  comfort  could  ever  reach  her  life,  fearfully 
"burdened  as  it  was.  Still,  there  was  soothing  in  the 
voice.  So  the  matron,  meeting  no  opposition,  went 
on : 

""We  must  not  talk  of  what  is  closest  to  our  hearts 
just  yet;  but  the  time  will  soon  come  when  the  old  man 
and  I  will  flit  to  some  smaller  home,  and  you  shall  have 
the  house  all  for  your  two  selves.  It  will  be  another 
place  then;  for  Richard  can  afford  to  live  more  daintily 
than  we  ever  cared  for.  The  garden  can  be  stocked  with 
flowers  and  made  pretty  as  this  at  the  cottage.  The 
barley-field  can  be  seeded  back  to  a  lawn,  and  that  parlor 
with  the  oriel  window,  where  the  good  man  stores  his 


346  XORS TON'S    REST. 

fruit,  can  be  made  rarely  grand  with  its  pictured  walls 
and  carved  mantelpiece." 

Still  Ruth  did  not  listen;  only  a  fantastic  and  vague 
picture  of  some  dream-like  place  was  passing  through 
her  mind,  which  the  kind  old  neighbor  was  endeavoring 
to  make  her  understand.  Now  and  then  she  felt  this 
hazy  picture  broken  up  by  a  jar  of  pain  when  Richard 
Storms  was  mentioned ;  but  even  that  hated  name  was  so 
softened  by  the  loving,  motherly  voice  that  half  its  bit 
terness  was  lost. 

"Tell  me,"  said  the  matron,  "when  will  you  come? 
I  made  everything  ready  this  morning  before  we  left, 
hoping  you  would  go  back  with  us." 

Ruth  opened  her  great  sad  eyes,  and  looked  into  the 
motherly  face  bending  over  her. 

"You  are  kind,"  she  said,  "so  kind,  and  you  were  his 
dear  friend.  I  know  that  well  enough ;  but  I  cannot  fix 
my  mind  on  anything — only  this:  your  voice  is  sweet; 
you  are  good,  and  wish  me  to  do  something  that  I  can 
not  think  of  yet.  Let  me  rest;  my  eyes  ache  with 
heaviness.  I  have  no  strength  for  anything.  This  is  a 
sad  place,  and  I  am  sad  like  the  rest;  if  you  would  leave 
me  now,  in  all  kindness  I  ask  it;  perhaps  the  good  God 
might  permit  me  to  sleep.  Since  the  night  he  died  I 
have  been  fearfully  awake,  sitting  by  him,  you  know. 
Now — now  I  would  like  to  be  alone,  quite  alone.  There 
is  something  I  wish  to  ask  of  God." 

O 

Mrs.  Storms  yielded  to  this  sad  pleading,  laid  the 
girl's  hands  into  her  lap,  kissed  her  forehead  and  went 
away,  thinking,  in  her  motherly  innocence: 

"The  child  is  worn  out,  dazed  with  her  great  sorrow. 
I  can  do  nothing  with  her;  but  Richard  will  be  going  to 
the  cottage,  and  she  loves  him.  Ah,  who  could  help  it, 


WAITING     AT     THE     LAKE     HOUSE.      347 

now  that  he  is  so  manly  and  has  given  up  the  ways  that 
we  dreaded  might  turn  to  evil !  She  will  listen  to  him, 
then  John  and  I  will  have  a  daughter.'7 


CHAPTER    LVII. 

WAITING     AT     THE     LAKE     HOUSE. 

DURING  the  time  that  his  mother  was  so  kindly 
persuading  Ruth  to  accept  a  home  with  her, 
Richard  Storms  was  pacing  the  Lake  House  to  and  fro, 
like  a  caged  animal  waiting  for  its  feeder. 

The  triumph  of  his  revenge  and  his  love  seemed  near  at 
hand  now.  Before  Jessup's  death  h  is  power  was  insufficient, 
his  influence  feeble,  for  no  one  was  in  haste  to  take  up  a 
wrong  which  the  sufferer  was  the  first  to  ignore.  But 
now  the  wound  had  done  its  work.  A  man  had  been 
shot  to  death,  and  any  subject  of  Her  Majesty  had  the 
right  to  call  for  a  full  investigation  before  a  magistrate. 
This  investigation  the  young  man  had  resolved  to 
demand. 

All  that  the  man  wanted  now,  to  complete  his  power 
of  ruin,  was  the  letter  which  Judith  Hart  had  found 
drifting  through  the  shrubbery  on  the  day  she  had  visited 
"Norston's  Rest/'  at  his  own  suggestion,  in  order  to 
get  a  foothold  in  the  establishment  and  become  his  willing 
or  unconscious  spy,  as  he  might  be  compelled  to  use  her. 

That  letter  was  so  important  to  him  now  that  he  was 
ready  to  do  anything,  promise  anything,  in  order  to  get 
possession  of  it,  and  prowling  around  and  around  the  old 
Lake  House,  he  racked  his  brain  for  some  power  of 


REST. 

inducement  by  which  he  could  win  it  from  her,  and  per 
haps  other  proofs  that  she  might  find  in  the  cottage. 

Thus  urged  to  the  verge  of  desperation,  by  a  thirst 
for  revenge  on  young  Hurst,  and  the  craving  love  which 
Ruth  Jessup  had  rejected  with  so  much  scorn,  the  young 
man  awaited  with  burning  impatience  the  coming  of  his 
dupe;  for  up  to  this  time  he  had  failed  in  making  her 
entirely  an  accomplice. 

Judith  came  down  to  the  lake  in  great  excitement. 
Storms  saw  that,  as  she  turned  from  the  path  and  waded 
through  the  long,  thick  rushes  on,  the  shore,  without 
seeming  to  heed  them. 

"  You  have  found  something !  i  see  that  in  your  face," 
he  said,  as  the  girl  darkened  the  Lake  House  door. 
"  Give  it  to  me,  for  I  never  was  so  eager  to  be  at  work. 
Why  don't  you  speak  ?  Why  don't  you  tell  me  what 
it  is?" 

Judith  pushed  her  way  into  the  house  and  seated  her 
self  on  the  bench,  where  she  sat  looking  at  him  with  an 
expression  in  her  eyes  that  seemed  to  forbode  revolt. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  sitting  down  by  her,  "tell  me 
what  you  have  discovered.  I  hope  it  is  something  that 
will  clear  the  way  to  our  wedding,  for  I  am  getting 
impatient  for  it.  Nothing  but  the  want  of  that  paper 
has  kept  me  back  so  long." 

The  strange  expression  on  Judith's  face  softened  a  little. 
Some  good  was  in  the  girl.  The  firm  hold  she  had  kept 
on  Jessup's  dangerous  letter  had  been  maintained  as  much 
from  reluctance  to  bring  ruin  on  an  innocent  man  as  for 
her  own  security.  On  her  way  from  the  gardener's  cot 
tage,  she  had  taken  a  rapid  survey  of  the  situation,  and 
for  the  first  time  felt  the  courage  of  possessed  power. 

"You  are  in  terrible  haste,"  she  said,  "as  if  the  paper 


WAITING     AT     THE     LAKE     HOUSE.      349 

I  have  was  not  enough  to  win  anything  you  want  from 
Sir  Noel." 

"  But  you  will  not  trust  me  with  it.  You  do  not  love 
me  well  enough  for  that." 

"  I  loved  you  well  enough  to  give  up  my  home,  my 
poor  old  father,  my  good  name  with  the  neighbors,  and 
become  the  meanest  of  servants,  only  to  be  near  you," 
answered  the  girl,  with  deep  feeling;  "and  I  love  you 
now,  oh  God,  forgive  me  !  better,  better  than  my  own 
wicked  soul,  or  you  never  would  have  seen  me  again." 

"  Still  you  refuse  to  give  me  the  one  scrap  of  paper 
that  can  bring  us  together,"  said  Storms,  reproachfully. 

"  If  I  did  give  it  up  what  would  you  do  with  it?" 

"  Do  with  it!  I  will  take  it  to  Sir  Noel,  break  down 
his  pride,  threaten  him  with  the  exposure  of  his  son's 
crime,  and  wring  the  lease  I  want  from  him,  with  enough 
money  beside  to  keep  my  wife  a  lady." 

"  But  what  if  I  take  the  paper  to  Sir  Noel,  and  get 
all  these  things  for  myself?" 

For  an  instant  Storms  was  startled,  but  a  single  thought 
restored  his  self-poise. 

"  There  is  one  thing  Sir  Noel  could  not  give  you." 

"What  is  that?" 

"A  husband  that  loves  the  very  ground  you  walk  on." 

"Oh,  if  I  could  be  sure  that  you  loved  me  like  that." 

"  I  do — I  do ;  but  how  can  I  wed  you  without  some 
chance  of  a  living?  The  old  man  wouldn't  take  us  in 
without  the  new  lease,  and  without  more  land  I  can  do 
nothing." 

"  Dick  !  Oh,  tell  me  the  truth  now.  Is  that  all  the 
use  you  mean  to  make  of  this  paper  ?  " 

"  Yes,  all !  I  will  swear  to  it  if  that  will  pacify  you. 
The  lease,  and  money,  down  at  the  time  ;  for  a  handsome 


350  NORS  TON'S     REST. 

wife  must  have  something  to  dash  her  neighbors  with. 
That  is  all  I  want,  and  that  the  paper  in  your  bosom 
will  bring  me." 

Judith  lifted  a  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  kept  it  there, 
still  hesitating. 

"You  do  not  mean  to  harm  the  young  gentleman? 
Oh,  Richard,  you  could  not  be  so  bad  as  that." 

"  Harm  him  !  No  !  I  only  want  to  frighten  Sir  Noel 
out  of  his  land  and  money.  If  I  once  gave  the  paper  to 
a  magistrate,  it  would  be  an  end  of  that." 

"So  it  would,"  said  Judith,  thoughtfully.  "Besides 
— besides — " 

"  Come,  come  !     Make  up  your  mind,  girl !  " 

"Swear  to  me,  that  you  will  never  show  the  paper  to 
any  one  but  Sir  Noel — never  use  it  against  the  young 
gentleman  ! " 

"  Swear !  I  am  ready  !  If  there  were  a  Bible  here  I 
would  do  it  now." 

"Never  mind  the  Bible!  With  your  hand  here,  and 
your  eyes  looking  into  mine,  swear  to  your  promise." 

Storms  gave  a  returning  grasp  to  the  hand  which  had 
seized  his,  and  his  eyes  were  lifted  for  a  moment  to  the 
bold,  black  orbs  that  seemed  searching  him  to  the  soul ; 
but  they  wavered  in  an  instant,  and  returned  her  gaze 
with  furtive  side-glances,  while  he  repeated  the  oath  in 
language  which  was  profane  rather  than  solemn. 

After  holding  his  hand  for  a  minute,  in  dead  silence, 
Judith  dropped  it,  and  taking  the  old  portemonnaie  from 
her  bosom,  gave  up  old  Jessup's  first  letter,  but  without 
a  word  of  the  other  paper. 

"There!     Remember,  I  have  trusted  you." 

Storms  fairly  snatched  the  paper  from  her  hand,  for 
the  cruel  joy  of  the  moment  was  too  much  for  his  caution. 


WAITING     AT     THE     LAKE     HOUSE.       351 

"'Now"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  more  repulsive  than 
curses,  "  I  have  them  all  in  the  dust." 

"  But  remember  your  oath,"  said  Judith,  uneasily,  for 
the  fierce  triumph  in  that  face  frightened  even  her. 

"  I  forget  nothing !  "  was  the  bitter  answer,  "  and  will 
bate  nothing — not  a  jot,  not  a  jot." 

Storms  was  half  way  to  the  door,  as  he  said  this,  with 
the  paper  grasped  tightly  in  his  hand. 

"But  where  are  you  going?"  pleaded  Judith,  follow 
ing  him.  "  Is  there  nothing  more  to  say?" 

"Only  this,"  answered  Storms,  struck  by  a  shrewd 
after-thought;  "it  is  better  that  you  leave  the  '  Two 
Ravens7  at  once.  It  is  not  from  the  tap-room  of  an  inn 
that  a  gentleman  must  take  his  wife." 

Judith  looked  at  him  searchingly.  There  seemed  to 
be  reason  in  his  suggestion;  still  she  doubted  him. 

"  Where  would  you  have  me  go,  Richard  ?  Back  to 
the  old  home?" 

Storms  reflected  a  moment  before  he  answered. 

"It  isn't  a  palace  or  a  castle,  like  the  one  you  mean  to 
get  out  of  that  paper,"  Judith  said,  impatient  of  his 
silence,  "but,  poor  as  it  was,  you  liked  to  come  there, 
and  the  old  father  would  be  glad  and  proud  to  be  stand 
ing  by  when  we  are  wedded." 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  he  would  be  that,"  answered  Storms, 
with  an  uneasy  smile.  "  Well,  as  you  wish  it,  the  old 
home  is  perhaps  as  safe  a  place  as  you  could  stay  in." 

"But  it  will  not  be  for  long — you  promise  that?" 
questioned  the  girl,  anxiously. 

"Not  if  Sir  Noel  comes  down  handsomely,  but  I  must 
not  be  bothered  while  this  work  is  on  hand.  You  will 
give  the  landlady  warning  and  go  at  once.  Say  nothing 
of  where  you  are  going ;  or  perhaps,  as  she  is  sure  to  ask 


352 

questions,  it  is  better  to  speak  of  London.  You  can  even, 
take  the  train  that  way  for  a  short  distance,  and  turn 
back  to  the  station  nearest  your  home.  The  walk  will 
not  be  much." 

"What,  from  the  station?"  said  Judith,  laughing. 
"  Why  the  old  home  is  a  good  twenty  miles  from  here, 
and  I  walked  it  all  the  way,  having  no  money." 

"Ah,  that  was  when  you  were  fired  with  jealousy,  and 
I'll  be  bound  you  did  not  feel  the  walk.  But  we  must 
have  no  more  of  that.  There  is  money  enough  to  take 
you  home,  and  something  over." 

"  No,  no.  I  shall  have  my  wages,"  said  the  girl, 
drawing  back. 

In  her  mad  love  she  could  leave  her  home  and  follow 
this  man  on  foot  without  shame,  but  something  of 
honest  pride  withheld  her  from  receiving  his  money. 

"What  nonsense!"  exclaimed  Storms,  wondering  at 
the  color  that  came  into  her  face,  while  he  dropped  the 
gold  back  into  his  pocket.  "  But  you  must  give  notice 
at  once.  We  have  no  time  to  lose.  Now  I  think  of  it, 
how  much  did  the  landlady  know  about  you  at  the  '  Two 
Ravens?'" 

"  Nothing.     She  thinks  I  came  down  from  London." 

"  Not  the  name  ?     I  cannot  remember  ever  hearing  it." 

"  No  one  but  the  mistress  knew  it,"  said  Judith.  "  My 
father  was  of  the  better  sort  till  misfortune  came  on  him, 
and  I  wouldn't  drag  his  name  down  in  that  place.  I  am 
only  known  as  Judith  among  the  customers." 

"That  is  fortunate,  and  makes  your  going  up  to 
London  the  thing  to  say.  You  can  be  home  to 


morrow." 


"  But  you  will  not  be  long  away  ?     You  will  come  ?' 
"  Surely  ;  three  days  from  this  at  our  old  place  in  the 


SIR    NOEL'S    VISITOR.  353 

orchard.  I  do  not  care  to  see  your  father  at  first.  It 
will  be  time  enough  when  we  can  tell  him  everything. 
There,  now,  I  must  go.  You  will  forget  nothing?" 

Storms  held  out  his  hand.     Judith  took  it  reluctantly. 

"Are  you  leaving  me  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  yonder,"  he  answered,  waving  his 
hand  toward  "  Norston's  Rest." 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 
SIR    NOEL'S    VISITOR. 

^  ~1~T  is  not  the  old  man,  Sir  Noel,  but  young  Storms, 
J-     who  says  he  must  and  will  see  you  !  " 
"  Did  the  hind  send  that  message  to  me  ?  " 
"  No,  Sir  Noel,  he  only  said  it  to  me,  and  impudent 
enough  in  him  to  do  it.     His  message  to  you  was  soft  as 
silk.     He  had  important  business  which  you  would  like 
to  hear  of,  and  could  not  wait.      That  was  what  made 
him  bold  to  ask,"  answered  the  servant,  who  had  been 
greatly  disturbed  by  the  manner  of  young  Storms,  who 
was  no  favorite  at  "  The  Rest." 

"You  can  let  him  come  in,"  said  Sir  Noel,  with 
strange  hesitancy;  for  over  him  came  one  of  those  chilly 
presentiments  that  delicately  sensitive  persons  alone  can 
feel,  when  some  evil  thing  threatens  them.  "  Let  the 
young  man  come  in." 

The  servant  went  out  of  the  library,  and  Sir  Noel 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  subdued  by  this  premonition  of 
evil,  but  striving  to  reason  against  it. 

"  He  has  come  about  the  lease,  .no  doubt,"  he  argued. 
22 


354  NORS  TON'S    REST. 

"I  wish  the  question  was  settled.  After  all,  its  conse 
quence  is  disproportionate  to  the  annoyance.  I  would 
rather  sign  it  blindly  than  have  that  young  man  ten 
minutes  in  the  room  with  me." 

It  was  a  strange  sensation,  but  the  baronet  absolutely 
felt  a  thrill  of  dread  pass  through  him  as  the  light  foot 
steps  of  Richard  Storms  approached  the  library,  and 
when  he  came  softly  through  the  door,  closing  it  after 
him,  a  slow  pallor  crept  over  his  face,  and  he  shrunk 
back  with  inward  repulsion. 

Storms,  too,  was  pale,  for  it  required  something  more 
than  brute  courage  to  break  the  wicked  business  he  was 
on  to  a  man  so  gentle  and  so  proud  as  Sir  Noel  Hurst. 
With  all  his  audacity  he  began  to  cringe  under  the  grave, 
quiet  glance  of  inquiry  bent  upon  him. 

"  I  have  come,  Sir  Noel — that  is,  I  am  wanting  to  see 
you  about  a  little  business  of  my  own." 

"  I  understand,"  answered  the  baronet.  "  Your  father 
wishes  a  new  lease  to  be  made  out,  and  some  additional 
land  for  yourself.  I  think  that  was  the  proposition." 

"  Yes,  Sir  Noel,  only  the  old  man  was  backward  in 
saying  all  that  he  wanted,  and  so  I  came  to  finish  the 
matter  up,  knowing  more  than  he  does,  and  feeling  sure 
that  your  honor  would  want  to  oblige  me." 

"  I  am  always  ready  to  oblige  any  good  tenant,"  an 
swered  Sir  Noel,  smiling  gravely  at  what  he  considered 
the  young  man's  conceit ;  "  but  think  that  wish  should 
apply  to  your  father  rather  than  yourself,  as  he  is  in 
reality  the  tenant ;  but  if  you  are  acting  for  him,  it 
amounts  to  the  same  thing." 

"  No,  Sir  Noel,  it  isn't  the  same  thing  at  all.  I  came 
here  on  my  own  business,  with  which  my  father  has 
nothing  to  do.  His  lease  is  safe  enough,  being  promised; 


SIR    NOEL'S    VISITOR.  355 

but  I  want  the  uplands,  with  a  patch  of  good  shooting- 
ground,  which  no  man  living  will  have  the  right  to  carry 
a  gun  over  without  ray  leave/' 

"Anything  else?"  questioned  Sir  Noel,  with  quiet 
irony,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Yes,  Sir  Noel,  there  is  something  else/7  rejoined  the 
young  man,  kindling  into  his  natural  audacity.  "I 
want  a  house  built  on  the  place.  No  thatched  cottage  or 
low-roofed  farm-house,  but  the  kind  of  house  a  gentle 
man  should  live  in,  who  shoots  over  his  own  land,  for 
which  he  is  expected  to  pay  neither  rent  nor  tithes." 

"  That  is,  you  wish  me  to  give  you  a  handsome  prop 
erty  on  which  you  can  live  like  a  gentleman  ?  Do  I  un 
derstand  your  very  modest  request  aright?" 

"  Not  all  of  it.     I  haven't  done  yet." 

"  Indeed  !     Pray,  go  on." 

"  There  isn't  land  enough  out  of  lease  to  keep  a  gen 
tleman,  whose  wife  will  have  all  the  taste  of  a  lady, 
being  educated  as  the  chief  friend  and  associate  of  Sir 
Noel  Hurst's  ward.  So  I  make  it  a  condition  that  some 
fair  income  in  money  should  be  secured  on  the  property." 

"A  condition  !     You — " 

"  Yes,  Sir  Noel,  it  has  come  to  that.  I  make  condi 
tions,  and  you  grant  them." 

Sir  Noel's  derisive  smile  deepened  into  a  gentle  laugh. 

"Young  man,  are  you  mad?  Nothing  short  of  that 
can  excuse  this  bombast,"  he  said  at  last,  reaching  out  his 
hand  to  ring  the  bell. 

"  Don't  ring ! "  exclaimed  Storms,  sharply.  "  You  are 
welcome  to  the  laugh,  but  don't  ring.  Our  business  must 
be  done  without  witnesses,  for  your  own  sake." 

"For  my  own  sake?     What  insolence  is  this?" 

"Well,  if  that  does  not  suit,  I  will  say  for  the  sake  of 
your  sou ! " 


356  NORS  TON'S    REST. 

The  blow  was  struck.  Sir  Noel's  face  blanched  to  the 
lips;  but  his  eyes  kindled  and  his  form  was  drawn  up 
haughtily. 

"  Well,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say  of  my  son  ?  " 

"This  much,  Sir  Noel.  He  has  been  poaching  on  my 
grounds,  which  I  don't  think  you  will  like  better  than  I 
do,  letting  alone  the  Lady  Rose." 

Sir  Noel  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Silence,  sir !  Do  not  dare  take  that  lady's  name  into 
your  lips." 

Storms  stepped  back,  frightened  by  the  hot  anger  he 
had  raised. 

"I — I  did  but  speak  of  her,  Sir  Noel,  because  the 
whole  country  round  have  thought  that  she  was  to  be 
the  lady  of  <  Norston's  Rest.' " 

"  Well,  sir,  who  says  that  she  will  not?  " 

"  I  say  it !  I,  whose  sweetheart  and  almost  wedded 
mate  he  has  made  a  by-word,  and  I  do  believe  means  to 
make  his  wife,  rather  than  let  the  bargain  settled  between 
William  Jessup  and  my  father  come  to  anything." 

"  What — what  reason  have  you  for  thinking  so  ? " 
questioned  the  baronet,  dismayed  by  this  confirmation  of 
fears  that  had  been  a  sore  trouble  to  him. 

"What  reason,  Sir  Noel  ?  Ask  him  about  his  private 
meetings  with  Ruth  Jessup  in  the  park — in  her  father's 
house — by  the  lake — " 

"  I  shall  not  ask  him.  Such  questions  would  insult 
an  honorable  man." 

"An  honorable  man !  Then  ask  him  where  he  was 
an  hour  before  William  Jessup  was  shot.  Ask  him  why 
the  old  man  went  out  in  search  of  him,  and  why  a  dis 
charged  gun,  bruised  about  the  stock,  was  found  under 
that  old  cedar-tree.  If  your  son  refuses  to  answer,  ques- 


SIR    NOEL'S    VISITOR.  357 

tion  the  girl  herself,  my  betrothed  wife.  Ask  her  about 
his  coming  to  the  cottage,  while  the  old  man  was  away. 
These  are  not  pleasant  questions,  I  dare  say ;  but  they 
will  give  you  a  reason  why  I  am  here,  why  the  land  I 
want  must  be  had,  and  why  I  am  ready  to  pay  for  it  by 
marrying  the  only  girl  that  stands  in  the  way  of  your 
ward,  without  asking  too  many  questions.  You  would 
not  have  the  offer  from  many  fellows,  I  can  tell  you." 

Sir  Noel  had  slowly  dropped  into  his  chair,  as  this 
coarse  speech  was  forced  upon  him.  His  own  fears, 
hidden  under  the  habitual  reserve  of  a  proud  nature, 
gave  force  to  every  word  the  young  man  uttered.  He 
was  convinced  that  a  revolting  scandal,  if  not  grave  trou 
bles,  might  spring  out  of  the  secret  this  young  man  was 
ready  to  sell  and  cover  for  the  price  he  had  stated.  But 
great  as  this  fear  was,  such  means  of  concealment  seemed 
impossible  to  his  honorable  nature.  He  could  not  force 
himself  into  negotiations  with  the  dastard,  who  seemed 
to  have  no  sense  of  honor  or  shame.  The  dead  silence 
maintained  by  the  baronet  made  Storms  restless.  He 
had  retreated  a  little,  when  Sir  Noel  sat  down;  but  drew 
near  the  table  again  with  cat-like  stillness,  and  leaning 
upon  it  with  both  hands,  bent  forward,  and  whispered : 

"Now  I  leave  it  to  you,  if  the  price  I  ask  for  taking 
her,  and  keeping  a  close  mouth,  isn't  dog-cheap  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dog-cheap,"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  drawing  his 
chair  back,  while  a  flush  of  unmitigated  disgust  swept 
across  the  pallor  of  his  face.  "  But  I  do  not  deal  with 
dogs ! " 

Storms  started  upright,  with  a  snarl  that  seemed  to 
come  from  the  animal  to  which  he  felt  himself  compared, 
and  for  a  moment  his  face  partook  of  the  resemblance. 

"Such  animals  have  been  dangerous  before  now!77  he 
said,  with  a  hoarse  threat  in  his  voice. 


358 

Sir  Noel  turned  away  from  that  vicious  face,  sick  with 
disgust. 

"  If  a  harmless  bark  is  not  enough  to  start  you  into 
taking  care  of  yourself,  take  the  bite.  I  did  not  mean 
to  give  it  yet,  but  you  will  have  it.  If  you  will  not  pay 
my  price  for  your  son's  honor,  do  it  to  save  his  life,  for 
it  was  he  who  killed  William  Jessup." 

Sir  Noel  arose  from  his  seat,  walked  across  the  room 
and  rang  the  bell.  When  the  servant  answered  it  he 
pointed  toward  the  door,  saying  very  quietly,  "  Show 
this  person  out." 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

PLEADING     FOR     DELAY. 

HAD  her  sin  killed  that  good  old  man?  Was  the 
penalty  of  what  seemed  but  an  evasion,  death — 
death  to  the  being  she  loved  better  than  any  other  on 
earth  save  one,  that  one  suffering  also  from  her  fault? 
Had  she,  in  her  fond  selfishness,  turned  tjiat  pretty  home- 
oest  into  a  tomb?  Had  God  so  punished  her  for  this 
one  oifence,  that  she  must  never  lift  her  head  to  the  sun 
light  again  ? 

Sitting  there  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  shadows  that 
gathered  around  her  with  funereal  solemnity,  Ruth  asked 
herself  this  question,  pressing  her  slender  hands  together, 
and  shivering  with  nervous  cold  as  she  looked  around 
on  the  dark  objects  in  the  little  room,  linked  with  such 
cruel  tenderness  to  the  father  she  had  lost,  that  they 
seemed  to  reproach  her  on  every  side. 

"Ah,  me !  I  cannot  stay  here  all  alone — all  alone,  and 


PLEADING     FOR     DELAY.  359 

he  gone !  It  is  like  sitting  in  a  well.  My  feet  are  like 
ice.  My  tears  are  turning  to  hoar-frost.  But  he  is 
colder  than  I  am — happier,  too,  for  he  could  die.  One 
swift  trouble  pierced  him,  and  he  fell ;  but  they  shoot 
me  through  and  through  without  killing.  After  all,  I 
am  more  unhappy  than  the  dead.  If  he  knew  this,  oh, 
how  my  poor  father  would  pity  me !  How  he  would 
long  to  take  me  with  him,  knowing  that  I  have  done 
wrong,  but  am  not  wicked !  Oh,  does  he  understand 
this?  Will  the  angels  be  merciful, and  let  him  know?" 
The  poor  child  was  not  weeping,  but  sat  there  in  the 
shadows  of  that  home  from  which  she  had  sent  away  her 
best  friends,  terrified  by  the  darkness,  dumb  and  trodden 
down  under  the  force  of  her  own  reproaches,  which  beat 
upon  her  heart  as  the  after  swell  of  a  tempest  tramples 
the  resistless  shore.  It  seemed  as  if  existence  for  her 
must  henceforth  be  a  continued  atonement,  that  could 
avail  nothing.  In  all  the  black  horizon  there  was.  for 

O  7 

this  child,  but  one  gleam  of  light,  and  that  broke  upon 
her  like  a  sin. 

Her  husband !  She  had  seen  him  for  one  dizzy  mo 
ment  ;  his  head  had  rested  on  her  bosom.  While  pant 
ing  with  weakness,  and  undue  exertion,  he  had  found 
time  to  whisper  how  dear  she  was  to  him.  Yes,  yes ! 
there  was  one  ray  of  hope  for  her  yet.  It  had  struck 
her  father  down  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  the  very 
thought  of  it  blinded  her  soul.  Still  the  light  was  there, 
though  she  was  afraid  to  look  upon  it. 

A  noise  at  the  gate,  a  step  on  the  gravel,  a  wild  bound 
of  her  wounded  heart,  and  then  it  fell  back  aching. 
Hurst  came  in  slowly ;  he  was  feeble  yet,  and  excitement 
had  left  him  pale.  Kuth  arose,  but  did  not  go  forward 
to  meet  him.  She  dared  uot,  but  stood  trembling  from 


SCO  NO  US  T  OX'S     REST. 

• 

head  to  foot.      lie  came  forward    with    his  arms  ex 
tended. 

"Ruth !     My  poor  girl ;  my  dear,  sweet  wife  !  " 

She  answered  him  with  a  great  sob,  and  fell  upon  his 
bosom,  weeping  passionately.  His  voice  had  lifted  her 
out  of  the  solemnity  of  her  despair.  She  was  no  longer 
in  a  tomb. 

"Do  not  sob  so,  my  poor  darling.  Am  I  not  here?" 
said  the  young  man,  pressing  her  closer  and  closer  to  his 
bosom. 

She  clung  to  him  desperately,  still  convulsed  with  grief. 

"Be  tranquil.     Do  compose  yourself,  my  beloved.'7 

"I  am  so  lonely,"  she  said,  "and  I  feel  so  terribly 
wicked.  Oh,  Walton,  we  killed  him.  You  and  I.  Ko, 
no;  not  that.  I  did  it.  No  one  else  could." 

"Hush,  hush,  darling!  This  is  taking  upon  yourself 
pain  without  cause.  I  come  to  say  this,  knowing  it 
would  give  you  a  little  comfort.  I  questioned  the  doc 
tor.  They  sent  for  him  again,  for  I  was  suffering  from 
the  shock,  and  nearly  broken  clown.  Ill  as  I  was,  this 
death  preyed  upon  me  worse  than  the  fever,  so  I  ques 
tioned  the  doctor  closely.  I  demanded  that  he  should 
make  sure  of  the  causes  that  led  to  your  father's  death. 
He  did  make  sure.  While  you  were  shut  up  in  your 
room,  mourning  and  inconsolable,  there  was  a  medical 
examination.  Your  father  might  have  lived  a  few  hours 
longer  but  for  the  sudden  shock  of  my  presence  here ; 
but  he  must  have  died  from  his  wound.  No  power  on 
earth  could  have  saved  him.  That  was  the  general 
opinion." 

Ruth  hushed  her  sobs,  and  lifted  her  face,  on  which 
the  tears  still  trembled;  for  the  first  time  since  her 
father's  death  a  gleam  of  hope  shone  in  her  eyes. 


PLEADING     FOE     DELAY.  361 

"Is  this  so,  Walton?" 

"Indeed  it  is.  I  would  have  broKen  loose  from  them 
all,  and  told  you  this  before,  but  my  presence  seemed  to 
drive  you  wild." 

"It  did— it  did." 

"That  terrible  night  you  sent  me  from  the  house,  with 
such  pitiful  entreaties  to  be  left  alone.  You  preferred 
to  be  with  the  dead  rather  than  me." 

"That  was  when  I  thought  we  had  killed  him.  That 
was  when  I  felt  like  a  murderess.  But  it  is  over  now. 
I  can  breathe  again.  He  is  gone — my  poor  father  is 
gone,  but  I  did  not  kill  him — I  did  not  kill  him !  Oh, 
Walton,  there  is  no  sin  in  my  kisses  now;  nothing  but 
tears." 

The  poor  young  creature  trembled  under  this  shock 
of  new  emotions.  The  great  horror  was  gone.  She 
no  longer  clung  to  her  husband  with  the  feeling  of  a 
criminal. 

"  You  have  suffered,  my  poor  child.  We  have  both 
suffered,  because  I  was  selfishly  rash ;  more  than  that,  a 
coward." 

"No,  no.  Rash,  but  not  a  coward,"  broke  in  Ruth, 
impetuously.  "You  shrunk  from  giving  pain,  that  is 
all." 

"But  I  shrink  no  longer.  That  which  we  have  done 
must  be  publicly  known." 

"How ?     What  are  you  saying?  " 

"That  you  are  my  wife,  my  honored  and  beloved  wife, 
and  as  such  Sir  Noel,  nay,  the  whole  world,  must  know 
you." 

Then  Ruth  remembered  Richard  Storms,  and  his  dan 
gerous  threats.  She  was  enfeebled  by  long  watching, 
and  terrified  bv  the  thought  of  new  domestic  tempests. 


362 

"Not  yet,  oh,  not  yet.     Walton,  you  terrify  me." 

"But,  my  darling!—" 

"  Not  yet,  I  say.  Let  us  rest  a  little.  Let  us  stop 
and  draw  breath  before  we  breast  another  storm.  I  have 
no  strength  for  it." 

"  But,  Ruth,  this  is  no  home  for  you." 

"  The  dear  home — the  dear  old  home.  I  was  afraid 
of  it.  I  shuddered  in  it  only  a  little  while  ago ;  but  now 
it  is  no  longer  a  prison,  no  longer  a  sepulchre.  I  cannot 
bear  to  leave  it." 

"  Ruth,  your  home  is  up  yonder.  It  should  have  been 
so  from  the  first,  only  I  had  not  the  courage  to  resist  your 
pleadings  for  delay;  but  now — " 

"  But  now  you  will  wait  because  I  so  wish  it.  Oh, 
Walton,  I  have  not  the  courage  to  ask  a  place  under  your 
father's  roof.  Give  me  a  little  time." 

"  It  is  natural  that  you  should  shrink,  being  a  woman," 
said  Hurst,  kissing  the  earnest  face  lifted  to  his.  "But 
it  shames  me  to  have  set  you  the  example." 

Ruth  answered  this  with  pathetic  entreaty,  which  she 
strove  to  render  playful. 

"Being  two  culprits.  One  brave,  the  other  a  poor 
coward,  you  will  have  compassion,  and  let  her  hide  away 
yet  a  while.* 

"  No,  Ruth !  We — I  have  done  wrong,  but  for  the 
hurt  that  struck  me  down,  I  should  have  told  my  father 
long  ago.  I  meant  to  do  it  the  very  next  day.  It  was 
his  entreaties  that  I  dreaded,  not  his  wrath.  I  doubted 
myself,  more  than  his  forgiveness.  Had  he  been  less 
generous,  less  noble,  I  should  not  have  cared  to  conceal 
anything  from  him." 

"  But  having  done  so,  let  it  rest  a  while,  Walton ;  I  am 
so  weary,  so  afraid." 


PLEADING     FOR     DELAY.  3G3 

Until  wound  her  arms  around  the  young  man's  neck, 
and  enforced  her  entreaties  with  tearful  caresses.  She 
was,  indeed,  completely  broken  down.  He  felt  that  it 
would  be  cruelty  to  force  her  into  new  excitements  now, 
and  gave  way. 

"  Be  it  as  you  wish,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Only  remem 
ber  you  have  no  protector  here,  and  it  is  not  for  my 
honor  that  the  future  lady  of  'The  Rest'  should  remain 
long  in  any  home  but  that  of  her  husband." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  this  place  has  been  so  dear  to  me. 
Remember,  will  you,  that  the  little  birds  are  never  taken 
from  the  nest  all  at  once.  They  first  flutter,  then  poise 
themselves  on  the  side,  by-and-by  hop  off  to  a  convenient 
twig,  flutter  to  a  branch  and  back  again.  I  am  in  the 
nest,  and  afraid,  as  yet.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"Yes,  darling,  I  understand." 

"And  you  will  say  nothing,  as  yet.  Hush!"  whis 
pered  Ruth,  looking  wildly  over  his  shoulder.  "  I  hear 
something." 

"It  is  nothing." 

" Plow  foolish  I  am!  Of  course  it  is  nothing.  We 
are  quite  alone ;  but  every  moment  it  seems  as  if  I  must 
hear  my  father's  step  on  the  threshold,  as  I  heard  it  that 
night.  It  frightened  me,  then ;  now  I  could  see  him 
without  dread,  because  I  think  that  he  knows  how  it  is." 

"  Before  many  days  we  shall  be  able  to  see  the  whole 
world  without  dread,"  answered  Hurst,  very  tenderly. 
"Till  then,  good-night." 

"  Good-night,  Walton,  good-night.  You  see  that  I  can 
smile,  now.  I  have  lost  my  father,  but  the  bitterness  of 
sorrow  is  all  gone.  I  had  other  troubles  and  some  fears 
that  seemed  important  while  he  was  alive;  but  now  I 
can  hardly  remember  them.  Great  floods  swallow  up 


364 


BEST. 


everything  in  their  way.  I  have  but  just  come  out  of 
the  storm  where  it  seemed  as  if  I  was  wrecked  forever. 
So  I  have  no  little  troubles,  now.  Good-by.  I  shall 
dream  after  this.  Good-by/' 


CHAPTER   LX. 

LOVE     AND     HATE. 

T3UTII  did  sleep  long  and  profoundly.  A  stone  had 
-L  \)  been  rolled  from  her  heart,  and  the  solemn  rest 
of  subsiding  grief  fell  upon  her.  Early  in  the  morning 
she  arose  and  went  down- stairs,  feeling,  for  the  first  time 
for  days,  a  keen  want  of  food.  There  was  no  fire  in  the 
house :  gray  ashes  on  the  hearth,  a  few  blackened  embers, 
and  nothing  more.  The  house  was  very  lonely  to  her 
that  bright  morning,  for  the  shutters  had  kept  it  in 
gloomy  twilight  since  the  funeral,  and  she  had  not 
heeded  the  semi-dark n«es,  having  so  much  of  it  in  her 
own  soul. 

"He  has  forgiven  me.  He  knows,"  she  thought, 
with  a  deep,  deep  sigh,  "there  is  no  reason  why  his 
child  should  cower  in  darkness  now,  and  he  loved  the 

light." 

Ruth  pushed  open  the  shutters,  and  almost  smiled  as 
a  burst  of  sunshine  came  streaming  in  through  the  ivy, 
embroidering  the  floor  all  around  her  with  flecks  of 
silver. 

"  Yes,"  she  thought,  "  he  loved  the  light,  and  it  is  so 
beautiful  now,  I  will  have  some  breakfast.  It  seems 
strange  to  be  hungry." 


LOVE     AND     HATE.  365 

Ruth  opened  a  cupboard,  and  took  from  it  some  fruit, 
a  biscuit,  and  a  cup  of  milk.  While  she  had  been  lost 
in  the  darkness,  some  kind  hand  had  placed  these  things 
where  she  would  be  sure  to  find  them  when  a  craving 
for  food  made  itself  felt  through  her  grief.  She  became 
conscious  of  this  kindness,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  softer 
tears  than  she  had  shed  for  many  a  day.  After  spread 
ing  the  little  table  with  a  white  cloth,  Euth  sat  down 
near  the  window,  and  began  to  drop  the  berries,  which 
some  pitying  child  had  brought  her,  into  the  milk. 
Just  as  the  old  china  bowl  was  full,  and  she  had  taken 
up  her  spoon,  a  black  shadow  came  against  the  window, 
shutting  out  all  the  silvery  rain  of  light,  and  looking  up, 
with  a  start,  the  girl  saw  Eichard  Storms  leaning  into 
the  room. 

Euth  dropped  her  spoon,  both  hands  fell  into  her  lap, 
arid  there  she  sat  stupefied,  gazing  at  him  as  a  fascinated 
bird  looks  into  the  glittering  eyes  of  a  snake.  There  had 
been  no  color  in  her  face  from  the  first,  but  a  deeper 
pallor  spread  over  it,  and  her  lips  grew  ashen. 

"  I  would  have  come  before,  as  was  the  duty  of  a  man 
when  his  sweetheart  was  in  trouble,"  said  Storms ;  "  but 
the  house  seemed  empty.  This  morning  I  saw  a  shutter 
open,  and  came." 

"  What  did  you  come  for  ?  "Why  will  you  torment 
me  so?"  said  Euth,  hoarse  with  dread. 

"Torment!  As  if  the  sight  of  one's  own  true  love 
ever  did  that,  especially  when  he  comes  to  comfort  one. 
Mother,  who  is  so  anxious  to  have  you  for  a  daughter, 
sent  me." 

"  You  cannot  comfort  any  one  against  her  will,"  said 
Euth,  striving  to  appear  calm.  "As  for  me,  I  only  want 
to  be  left  alone!" 


366 

"As  if  any  man,  with  a  heart  in  his  bosom,  could  do 
that;  especially  one  so  fond  of  you  as  I  am,"  answered 
Storms ;  "  besides,  I  have  a  fear  that  you  may  not  always 
want  to  be  alone.  Last  night,  for  instance!" 

Ruth  had  for  a  moment  rested  her  hands  on  the  table, 
resolved  to  be  brave;  but  they  fell  downward,  and  were 
wrung  together  in  a  spasm  of  distress. 

The  fiend  at  the  casement  saw  this  and  smiled. 

"  Nay,  do  not  let  me  keep  you  from  breakfast.  I  love 
to  see  you  eat.  Many  a  day  you  and  I  have  plucked 
berries  together.  It  won't  be  the  first  time  I  have  seen 
your  pretty  mouth  red  with  them." 

Ruth  pushed  the  bowl  of  fruited  milk  away  from  her. 

"  I  cannot  eat,"  she  said,  desperately.  "  Your  presence 
kills  hunger  and  everything  else.  Cannot  you  under 
stand  how  hateful  it  is  to  me?  Leave  that  window! 
You  block  out  all  the  pure  light  of  heaven ! " 

"I  will,"  answered  Storms,  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "You 
shall  have  all  the  light  you  want,"  and,  resting  his  hand 
on  the  window-sill,  he  leaped  into  the  room. 

"Audacious!"  cried  Ruth,  starting  up,  while  a  flash 
of  anger  shot  across  her  face  as  scarlet  sunset  stains  a 
snow  bank. 

"While  girls  are  so  tantalizingly  coy,  men  will  be 
audacious,"  said  Storms,  attempting  to  draw  her  toward 
him.  "And  they  like  us  all  the  better  for  it.  Shilly 
shallying  won't  do  when  a  man  is  in  earnest." 

"Leave  me!  Leave  the  house!"  commanded  Ruth, 
drawing  back  from  his  approach. 

Any  one  who  had  seen  the  girl  then  would  have 
thought  her  a  fit  chatelaine  for  the  stately  "  Old  Rest,"  or 
any  other  proud  mansion  of  England. 

t(  Not  yet.     Not  till  I  have  told  you  where  you  stand, 


HUNTED      DOWN.  367 

and  what  clanger  lies  in  a  storm  of  rage  like  this.  It 
makes  you  beautiful  enough  for  a  queen,  but  you  must 
not  dare  to  practise  your  grand  airs  on  me.  I  won't 
have  them!  Do  you  understand  that,  my  lass?  I  won't 
have  them !  Come  here  and  kiss  me.  That  is  what  I 
mean  to  have." 

"Wretch!" 

"  Go  on,  but  don't  forget  that  every  word  has  got  to 
be  paid  for  on  your  knees.  I  can  afford  to  offer  kisses 
now,  because  you  are  pretty  enough  to  make  any  man 
stoop  a  bit.  But  wait  a  while,  and  you  shall  come  a 
begging  for  them,  and  then  it'll  be  as  I  choose." 

Ruth  did  not  speak,  but  a  look  of  such  disgustful 
scorn  came  over  her  face  that  it  abashed  even  his  inso 
lence.  He  made  an  effort  to  laugh  off  the  confusion 
into  which  that  look  had  thrown  him. 


CHAPTER    LXI. 

HUNTED     DOWN. 

don't  believe  me!  You  think  to  escape,  or 
-L  put  me  down  with  these  fine-lady  airs.  Per 
haps  you  mean  to  complain  to  the  young  man  up  yonder, 
and  set  him  to  worrying  me  again.  Try  that — only  try 
it!  I  ask  nothing  better.  Let  him  interfere  with  me 
if  he  dares.  Have  you  nothing  to  say?" 

"Nothing!"  answered  Ruth,  with  quiet  dignity,  for 
contempt  had  conquered  all  the  terror  in  her. 

"  Nothing !     Then  I  will  make  you  speak,  understand 


368  NORSTON'S   REST. 

this.  You  cannot  put  me  clown.  No  one  can  do  that. 
Father  and  son,  I  am  the  master  of  them  all ! " 

"  Go ! "  said  Ruth,  wearied  with  his  bombastic  threats, 
for  such  she  considered  them.  "  Go !" 

"Go!     Do  I  frighten  you?" 

"You  weary  me — that  is  all." 

" Then  you  do  not  believe  what  I  say?" 

"No  I" 

"You  think  the  young  man  up  yonder  everything 
that  is  good." 

"Yes!" 

"Well,  I  think —  But  no  matter.  You  will  soon 
learn  more  than  you  want  to  hear.  This  is  enough.  I 
can  tear  the  Hurst  pride  up  by  the  roots.  I  can  make 
them  hide  their  faces  in  the  dust,  and  I  will,  if  you 
drive  me  to  it." 

"I?" 

"  Yes,  you !  It  all  depends  on  you.  That  young 
fellow's  blood  will  be  on  your  own  head  if  I  am  brought 
to  strike  him  down  !" 

"  His  blood  on  my  head !  His !  Are  you  mad,  or 
only  fiendish,  Richard  Storms?" 

"  This  is  what  I  am,  Ruth  Jessup — the  man  who  can 
prove  who  killed  your  father.  The  man  who  can  hang 
your  sweetheart  on  the  highest  gallows  ever  built  in 
England.  That  is  what  I  am,  and  what  I  will  do,  if  you 
ever  speak  to  him  again." 

"You!     You!" 

It  was  all  the  poor  girl  could  say,  this  awful  threat 
came  on  her  so  suddenly. 

"  You  believe  me.  You  would  give  the  world  not  to 
believe  me,  but  you  do.  Well,  instead  of  the  world  you 
shall  give  me  yourself.  I  want  you  enough  to  give  up 


HUNTED     DOWN.  369 

revenge  for  your  sake.  Isn't  that  love  ?  I  want  you 
because  of  your  obstinacy,  which  I  mean  to  break  down, 
day  by  day,  till  you  are  humble  enough.'7 

Ruth  smiled  scornfully.  She  had  been  so  often  terri 
fied  by  such  language  that  it  had  lost  its  force. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you,"  she  said.  "Would  not  believe 
an  angel,  if  he  dared  to  say  so  much." 

"  Will  you  believe  your  father's  own  handwriting?" 

Storms  took  from  an  inner  pocket  of  his  vest  a  folded 
letter.  Ruth  knew  it  in  an  instant.  It  was  the  letter 
she  had  placed  in  her  husband's  hand  that  day  when  she 
saw  him  for  one  moment  asleep  in  his  chamber  at  "  The 
Eest," 

"  Ha !  ha !  You  turn  white  without  reading  it !  You 
guess  what  it  is.  The  handwriting  is  large  enough  to 
read  at  a  safe  distance.  Make  it  out  for  yourself." 

Ruth  fastened  her  burning  eyes  on  the  paper,  which 
he  unfolded  and  held  between  his  two  hands,  so  near  that 
she  could  make  out  the  great  crude  letters ;  but  it  was 
beyond  her  reach  had  she  attempted  to  possess  herself  of 
it,  which  he  seemed  to  fear. 

"  Does  that  mean  anything?     Is  that  a  confession  ?  " 

Ruth  did  not  answer,  but  dropped  into  a  chair,  faint 
and  white,  still  gazing  on  the  paper. 

"  Do  you  want  more  proof?  Well,  I  can  give  it  you, 
for  I  saw  the  thing  done.  Do  you  want  the  partic 
ulars?" 

"  No !  no !  Spare  me !  '*  cried  the  poor  girl,  lifting 
both  hands. 

"  Of  course,  I  mean  to  spare  you.  One  doesn't  tor 
ment  his  wife  till  lie  gets  her  !  " 

"Spare  him!"  pleaded  the  poor  girl.     "Xever  mind 
me,  but  spare  him.     He  has  never  harmed  you." 
23 


370  N.OR8TOK  8     REST. 

"  Never  harmed  me !  Who  was  it  that  he  hurled, 
like  a  dog,  from  that  very  door?  Whose  sweetheart  was 
it  that  he  stole?  Never  harmed  me  !  Spare  him  !  That 
is  for  you  to  do.  No  one  else  on  this  earth  can  spare 
him ! " 

"But  how?" 

The  words  trembled,  coldly,  from  her  white  lips. 

"  How  ?    By  marrying  the  man  you  were  promised  to." 

A  faint  moan  was  her  only  answer. 

"  By  carrying  out  your  murdered  father's  bargain. 
That  is  the  only  way.  Shudder  down,  twist  and  wind 
as  you  will,  that  is  the  only  way." 

Ruth  shook  her  head.  She  could  not  speak. 
1  "  I  have  got  some  matter  to  settle  with  Sir  Noel,  for 
you  are  only  half  my  price.  There  must  be  land  and 
gold  thrown  in  on  his  part,  a  wedding  on  yours,  before  I 
promise  to  hold  my  tongue,  or  give  up  this  paper.  Love, 
money,  or  vengeance.  These  arc  my  terms.  He  takes  it 
hard — so  do  you,  quaking  like  a  wounded  hare  in  its 
form.  The  sight  of  it  does  me  good.  Gold,  land,  the 
prettiest  wife  on  this  side  of  England,  who  shall  give  me 
a  taste  of  vengeance,  too,  before  I  have  done  with  her. 
All  these  things  I  mean  to  enjoy  to  the  full." 

Still  Ruth  did  not  utter  a  word.  The  horror  in  her 
position  struck  the  power  of  speech  from  her. 

"I  see.  Nothing  but  love  for  this  murderer  could 
make  your  face  so  white.  Nothing  but  hate  of  me  could 
fill  your  eyes  with  such  frightened  loathing.  But  I  mean 
to  change  all  that,  before  you  have  been  my  wife  a 
twelvemonth.  Only  remember  this:  you  must  never 
see  Walton  Hurst  again — never.  I  shall  keep  watch. 
If  you  look  at  him,  if  you  speak  to  him  before  we  are 
wedded,  I  will  give  him  up  to  the  law  that  hour.  If  he 


HUNTED     DOWN.  371 

ever  cresses  my  path  after  that,  I  shall  know  how  to 
make  my  wife  suffer." 

Still  Ruth  did  not  speak. 

"  You  know  my  terms,  now.  The  moment  Sir  Noel 
signs  the  deeds  I'm  getting  ready,  he  seals  my  lips. 
When  our  marriage  certificate  is  signed,  I  give  up  this 
paper.  Then  there  is  nothing  for  us  but  love  or  hate. 
I  have  a  taste  for  both.  Come,  now,  say  which  it 
shall  be." 

"While  he  was  speaking,  Storms  had  drawn  close  to  the 
chair  on  which  liuth  sat,  still  and  passive.  With  the 
last  audacious  words  on  his  lips,  he  stooped  down,  pressed 
them  to  hers,  and  started  back,  for  they  had  met  the 
coldness  of  snow. 

"Fainting  again?  I  will  soon  cure  her  of  these 
tricks,"  he  muttered,  looking  down  into  the  still,  white 
face  he  had  desecrated  with  a  kiss.  "  Well,  she  knows 
what  to  depend  on  now,  and  can  take  her  own  time  for 
coming  to.  I  only  hope  Sir  Noel  will  be  as  easily 
settled  ;  but  he  fights  hard.  I  half  wish  he  would  say  no, 
that  I  might  pull  him  down  to  his  knees.  It  would  be 
rare  sport.  Only  I'd  rather  take  revenge  on  the  young 
master.  That  comes  with  the  wife,  and  the  old  baronet's 
money  thrown  in." 

With  these  thoughts  weaving  in  and  out  of  his  brain, 
Storms  left  the  house,  for  he  had  no  hesitation  in  leaving 
that  poor  girl  to  recover  from  her  dead  insensibility  alone. 
It  was  perhaps  the  only  mercy  he  could  have  awarded 
her. 


372  NORS TON'S   REST. 

CHAPTER    LXIL 

STORMS     A^D     LADY     ROSE. 

OTORMS  returned  home,  triumphing  in  his  success 
r<j)  over  that  lielplcss  girl,  and  confident  that  Sir  Noel 
would  accept  his  terms  at  last,  haughtily  as  he  had  been 
dismissed  from  the  house.  All  the  next  day  he  remained 
at  home,  expecting  some  message  from  the  baronet,  but 
none  came.  On  the  second  day  anxiety  overcame  his 
patience,  and  he  set  out  for  "  The  Rest,"  determined  to 
push  his  object  to  the  utmost,  and,  instead  of  vague 
insinuations,  lay  his  whole  proof  before  the  baronet. 

With  all  his  audacity  and  low  cunning,  this  man — a 
dastard  at  heart — was  thinking  how  he  might  evade  this 
interview,  and  yet  obtain  its  anticipated  results,  as  he 
came  slowly  through  the  wilderness.  All  at  once  he 
stopped,  and  a  sudden  flash  shot  across  his  face. 

"  The  Lady  Rose,  the  woman  Sir  Noel  has  chosen  for 
his  son's  wife,  she  has  access  to  him  always.  Her  en 
treaties  will  touch  his  heart,  and  break  down  his  pride. 
There  she  is  among  the  great  standard  roses.  Proud 
and  dainty  lady  as  she  is,  I  will  set  her  to  work  for  me. 
By  heavens,  she  comes  this  way ! " 

The  young  man  was  right.  That  young  lady  came 
out  from  among  her  sister  roses,  and  turned  toward  the 
wilderness,  in  whose  shadows  Storms  was  lurking.  She 
wanted  some  tender  young  ferns  to  complete  a  bouquet 
intended  for  the  little  sitting-room  that  Walton  was  sure 
to  visit  during  the  morning. 

As  Lady  Rose  was  moving  down  the  shaded  path  with 
that  slow,  graceful  motion  which  was  but  the  inheritance 


STORMS     A  X  D     LADY     ROSE.  373 

of  her  birth,  she  seemed  to  be  whispering  something  to 
the  flowers  in  her  hand.  Once  she  paused  and  kissed 
them,  smiling  softly,  as  their  perfume  floated  across  her 
face  like  an  answering  caress.  She  was  stooping  to  rob 
a  delicate  species  of  fern  of  its  tendercst  shoots,  when 
Storms  flung  his  shadow  across  her  path. 

The  lady  arose,  with  a  faint  start,  and  gazed  at  the 
man  quietly  as  one  waits  for  an  inferior  to  speak.  With 
all  his  audacity,  the  young  man  hesitated  under  that 
look  of  gentle  pride. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  ask  something  ?  "  she  said,  at  length, 
remarking  his  hesitation. 

The  sound  of  her  voice  emboldened  him,  but  he  spoke 
respectfully,  taking  off  his  hat. 

"  Xo,  Lady  Rose,  I  want  nothing.  But  I  can  tell  you 
that  which  it  is  perhaps  best  that  you  should  know/' 

"  Is  it  of  the  wedding  ?  Is  it  of  Ruth  you  would 
speak?" 

"  Of  her,  and  of  others,  nearer  and  dearer  to  you  than 
she  ever  was,  or  can  be,  Lady  Rose." 

The  soft  flush  of  color,  that  was  natural  to  that  lovely- 
face,  deepened  to  a  rich  carnation,  and  then  to  scarlet. 

"  I  do  not  understand  !" 

"  I  am  wanting  to  speak  of  Walton  Hurst,  the  heir  of 
'  Norston's  Rest/  " 

"And  what  of  him  ?  Nothing  serious  can  have  hap 
pened  since  I  saw  him,"  said  Lady  Rose,  at  first  with  a 
swift,  anxious  glance;  then  she  smiled  at  her  own  fright; 
for  half  an  hour  before  she  had  seen  Hurst  walking  upon 
the  terrace. 

"  Lady  Rose,  have  you  seen  Sir  Noel  this  morning?" 

"  Sir  Noel !  Why,  no.  He  breakfasted  earlier  than 
the  rest,  or  in  his  room." 


374  NOBSTON'S    REST. 

"  That  is  it.  He  is  in  trouble,  and  would  not  let  you 
see  it  in  his  face." 

"In  trouble!     Sir  Noel!" 

"  He  has  heard  bad  news." 

"  Bad  news !     How  ?     Where  did  it  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  took  it  to  him,  lady.  It  has  been  a  burden  on  my 
conscience  too  long.  The  murder  of  a  man  is  no  light 
thing  to  bear." 

"  The  murder  of  a  man ! "  repeated  Lady  Rose,  horrified. 

"I  speak  of  William  Jessup,  whom  we  buried  yester 
day,  and  who  was  murdered  in  the  park,  one  night,  by 
Walton  Hurst."  Storms  spoke  with  slow  impressive- 
ness,  while  Lady  Rose  stood  before  him  with  blanched 
lips  and  widely  distended  eyes. 

"  Murdered  in  the  park  by  Walton  Hurst!  Man,  are 
you  mad?" 

"  Lady,  I  saw  the  shot  fired.  I  saw  the  gun  twisted 
from  the  murderer's  hands,  and  the  stock  hurled  at  his 
head  before  the  old  man  fell.  He  was  found  lying 
across  the  path  lifeless,  the  brain  contused,  while  Jessup 
lay  shot  through  the  lungs  a  little  way  off,  where  he 
had  dropped  after  that  one  spasm  of  strength." 

"  You  saw  all  this  with  your  own  eyes?" 

"  I  saw  it  all,  but  would  never  have  spoken,  had  the 
old  man  lived.  Now  that  he  is  dead — " 

"  You  would  have  another  life — his  life !  " 

"  Do  not  tremble  so,  lady  !  Do  not  look  upon  me  as 
if  a  wild  beast  were  creeping  toward  you.  I  want  no 
man's  life — " 

"Ah ! " 

"Though  the  young  master  up  yonder  has  wronged 
me." 

"  Wronged  you  ?  Walton  Hurst  wronged  you  ?  Im 
possible!" 


STORMS     AND     LADY     ROSE.  375 

"  Yes,  me  !  I  was  engaged  to  wed  old  Jessup's  daugh 
ter.  It  was  a  settled  thing.  She  loved  me !  " 

"Well?" 

"  But  the  young  master  stepped  in  !  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  cried  the  lady,  with  a  disdainful 
lift  of  the  head,  though  all  the  color  had  faded  from  her 
face.  "  No  person  on  earth  could  make  me  believe  it." 

Storms  allowed  this  outburst  to  pass  by  him,  quietly, 
while  he  stood  before  the  lady,  hat  in  hand. 

Then  he  spoke : 

"Lady,  it  was  this  that  caused  the  murder.  The 
young  master  was  in  the  cottage,  as  he  had  been  many  a 
time  before  that  night,  but  this  time  Jessup  was  away  in 
London.  I  was  going  there  myself;  saw  him  and  her 
through  the  window,  and  turned  back,  not  caring  to  go  in, 
while  he  was  there,  though  I  thought  no  great  harm 
of  it— " 

"  There  was  no  harm.  I  will  stake  my  word,  my  life, 
my  very  soul;  there  was  no  harm  in  it,"  cried  Lady 
Rose.  "  If  an  honorable  man  lives,  it  is  Walton  Hurst." 

"  It  may  be,  lady.  I  do  not  dispute  it.  But  perhaps 
old  Jessup  thought  otherwise.  I  do  not  know.  There 
must  have  been  hard  words  when  he  came  in  and  found 
those  two  in  company,  for  in  a  few  minutes  the  young 
gentleman  came  dashing  through  the  porch  with  a  gun 
in  his  hand.  He  may  have  been  out  shooting  and  stopped 
at  the  cottage  on  his  way  home.  I  cannot  tell  that;  but 
he  came  out  with  a  gun  in  his  hand  ;  then  Jessup  fol 
lowed,  muttering  to  himself,  and  overtook  the  young 
master  just  as  he  got  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  cedar 
of  Lebanon.  Some  hot  words  passed  there.  I  could  not 
hear  them  distinctly,  for  they  were  muffled  with  rage ; 
but  I  came  up  just  in  time  to  see  Walton  Hurst  IcveJ  his 


376  NORSTON'S    REST. 

gun  and  fire.  Then  Jessup  leaped  out  from  the  shadows, 
wrenched  the  gun  from  the  hand  that  had  fired  it,  and, 
turning  it  like  a  club,  knocked  Hurst  down  with  it.  This 
was  done  in  the  moonlight.  I  saw  it  all.  Then  Jessup 
dropped  the  gun,  staggered  backward  into  the  darkness 
of  the  cedar,  and  fell.  They  were  found  so — one  lying  in 
the  blackness  cast  down  by  the  cedar  brandies,  the  other 
with  his  face  to  the  sky,  as  he  had  been  thrown  across 
the  path  where  the  moonlight  shone." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  remember— I  remember,"  moaned  Lady 
Kose.  He  looked  so  white  and  cold ;  we  thought  he 
was  dead." 

"She  was  there.  She  went  to  the  young  man  first.  I 
marked  that.  Her  father  lay  in  the  shadows  bleeding  to 
death,  but  she  went  to  the  young  man  first." 

"  She  did.  I  remember  it,"  flashed  through  the  brain 
of  Lady  Rose.  But  she  said,  bravely,  "  It  was  nothing. 
He  lay  in  the  light,  and  she  saw  him  first.  It  was 
natural." 

"I  thought  so  afterward.  She  was  my  sweetheart, 
lady,  and  I  was  glad  to  believe  it,"  answered  Storms, 
who  had  no  wish  to  excite  the  lady's  jealousy  beyond  a 
certain  point;  "but  after  that,  she  grew  cold  to  me. 
How  could  I  help  thinking  it  was  because  his  kindness 
had  turned  her  head  a  little?" 

"  Kindness  !  Perhaps  so.  We  have  all  been  kind  to 
Euth.  It  is  well  you  charge  my  guardian's  son  with 
nothing  but  kindness.  Anything  else  would  have  been 
dishonor,  you  know,  and  it  would  offend  me  if  you 
charged  that  upon  him." 

"  Lady,  I  charge  him  with  nothing,  save  the  murder 
of  William  Jessup/7 

"  But  that  is  impossible.  You  can  make  no  one  be- 
Jieve  it.  I  wonder  you  will  insist  on  the  wild  story." 


THE     PRICE     OF     A     LIFE.  377 

It  was  true  Lady  Rose  really  could  not  take  in  this 
idea  of  murder — it  was  too  horrible  for  reality.  She  put 
it  aside  as  an  incomprehensible  dream. 

"  I  saw  it,"  persisted  Storms,  staggered  by  her  persist 
ent  unbelief. 

"  Oh,  I  have  dreamed  such  things,  and  they  seemed 
very  real/7  answered  the  lady,  with  a  slight  wave  of  the 
hand. 


CHAPTER   LXIII. 

THE     PRICE     OF     A     LIFE. 

4i  T~  ADY,  I  have  other  proof.     Read  that.     Perhaps 

•  •  <*  you  have  seen  William  Jessup's  writing.  Read 
that." 

Lady  Rose  took  the  letter  and  read  it.  Now,  indeed, 
her  cheek  did  blanch,  and  her  blue  eyes  widened  with 
horror. 

"  This  is  strange,"  she  said,  growing  whiter  and  whiter. 
"  Strange,  but  impossible — quite  impossible  !  " 

"  Coupled  with  my  evidence,  it  is  enough  to  hang  any 
man  in  England,"  said  Storms,  reaching  out  his  hand  for 
the  paper,  which  she  returned  to  him  in  a  dazed  sort  of 
dream. 

"  What  do  you  want,  young  man  ?  How  do  you  mean 
to  use  this  letter?" 

"  I  have  told  Sir  Noel  what  I  mean,  Lady  Rose.  I 
am  a  poor  man,  he  is  a  rich  one.  I  only  asked  a  little 
of  his  wealth  in  exchange  for  his  son's  life." 

"Well?" 


378 

"  He  would  not  listen  to  me.  He  ordered  me  from  the 
house.  He  tried  not  to  believe  me,  so  tough  is  his  pride. 
It  might  have  been  disbelief;  it  might  have  been  rage 
that  made  him  so  white;  but  he  looked  like  a  marble 
man,  face,  neck,  and  hands.  That  was  after  the  first 
hint.  He  gave  me  no  chance  to  tell  the  whole,  though  I 
had  this  letter  in  my  pocket." 

"Then  you  gave  him  no  proof?"  questioned  Lady 
Rose,  eagerly. 

"  Proof?  He  did  not  wait  for  that.  No  dog  was  ever 
ordered  from  a  door  as  I  was.  But  he  shall  have  the 
letter;  he  shall  hear  all  that  I  have  told  you.  Then  he 
will  come  to  terms." 

"  He  never  will !  "  murmured  Lady  Rose.  "  Not  even 
to  save  his  son's  life !  " 

This  was  said  under  the  lady's  breath. 

"And  if  he  does  not  ?  "  she  questioned.  "  If  he  refuses 
to  pay  your  price  ?  " 

"  Then  Sir  Noel  cannot  expect  me  to  be  more  merciful 
to  his  son  than  he  is." 

"  What  is  it — tell  me  exactly — what  is  it  you  demand 
for  your  silence,  and  that  paper?" 

Storms  took  a  folded  sheet  of  foolscap  from  his  pocket, 
and  handed  it  to  Lady  Rose,  who  made  an  attempt  to 
read  it,  but  her  hand  shook  so  violently  that  the  lines 
mingled  together,  like  seaweed  on  a  wave. 

"  I  cannot  read  it ;  tell  me." 

Storms  took  the  paper  which  he  had  prepared  for  Sir 
Noel,  and  read  it  aloud.  His  hand  was  firm  enough  ; 
the  agitation  that  shook  the  frame  of  that  brave,  beauti 
ful  girl,  reassured  him.  He  was  certain  of  her  influence 
with  Sir  Noel. 

"Laud,  free  hunting,  the  house  of  a  gentleman.     I 


THE     PRICE     OF     A     LIFE.  379 

wonder  he  asks  so  little.  Does  he  know  what  a  life  like 
that  is  worth  to  us?"  she  thought. 

"There  is  one  thing  more/'  said  Storms.  "Those 
things  I  demand  for  my  silence.  The  paper  I  only  give 
up  when  Ruth  Jessup  is  my  wife." 

Lady  Rose  seemed  to  waive  the  subject  aside  as  an 
after-consideration. 

"  Land  and  house,"  she  said,  drawing  a  deep  breath, 
as  if  some  idea  had  become  a  resolution  in  her  mind. 
"  Tell  me,  must  they  be  in  this  county?  " 

"  If  Sir  Noel  had  land  in  another  part  of  England  I 
should  like  it  better.  One  might  set  up  for  a  gentleman 
with  more  success  among  strangers,"  was  the  cool  reply. 

"  I  can  give  you  all  these  things  in  a  part  of  England 
where  you  have  never  been  heard  of,"  said  the  lady. 
"  Only  remember  this :  there  must  be  no  more  appeals  to 
Sir  Noel.  He  must  never  see  that  paper.  It  must 
never  be  mentioned  again  to  any  human  being.  That  is 
my  condition." 

"  But,  lady,  can  you  make  this  certain  ?  Sir  Noel  is 
your  guardian." 

"Not  as  regards  this  property.  Have  no  fear,  I 
promise  it." 

"And  Ruth — Ruth  Jessup?  Without  her  all  this  goes 
for  nothing." 

"Ah,  if,  as  you  say,  she  loves  you,  that  is  easy.  To  a 
woman  who  loves,  all  things  are  possible." 

"  She  did  love  me  once,"  muttered  Storms,  beginning 
to  lose  heart. 

"  Then  she  loves  you  yet.  Ruth  is  an  honest  girl, 
and  with  such  change  is  impossible.  To  love  once  is  to 
love  forever ;  knowing  her,  you  ought  to  be  sure  of  this. 
Besides,  it  is  understood  that  she  is  promised  to  you." 


380 

"  She  is  promised  to  me,"  answered  Storms,  with  some 
show  of  doubt,  "  and  if  it  had  not  been — " 

The  young  man  broke  off.  The  blue  eyes  of  Lady 
Rose  were  fixed  on  him  with  such  shrinking  wistfulness 
that  he  changed  the  form  of  his  speech. 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  hurt  her  father  got,  we 
might  have  been  wedded  before  now.'7 

A  pang  of  conscience  came  over  Lady  Rose  when  she 
thought  of  pretty  Ruth  Jessup  as  the  wife  of  this  man 
who  was  even  then  trading  on  the  life  of  a  fellow-being. 
But  a  course  of  reasoning,  perhaps  unconsciously  selfish, 
blinded  her  to  the  misery  she  might  bring  on  that  young 
creature,  should  it  chance  that  the  union  was  distasteful 
to  her.  She  even  made  the  property,  with  which  the 
bridegroom  would  be  endowed,  a  reason  for  wishing  the 
marriage.  "  Ruth  is  such  a  sweet  little  lady,"  she  rea 
soned,  "  that  the  life  of  a  man  who  worked  on  his  own 
grounds  would  be  coarse  and  rude  to  her.  In  some  sort 
we  are  giving  her  the  place  of  a  gentlewoman.  Besides, 
she  must  love  the  man.  Everything  goes  to  prove  that — 
their  walks  in  the  park,  his  own  word.  Yes,  I  am. 
doing  good  to  her.  It  is  a  benefaction,  not  a  bribe.7' 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  the  mind  of  Lady 
Rose  swiftly,  and  with  a  degree  of  confusion  that  baffled 
her  clear  judgment.  Having  resolved  to  redeem  the 
good  name  of  her  guardian's  son  on  any  terms,  she 
sought  to  reconcile  those  terms  with  the  fine  sense  of 
honor  that  distinguished  her  above  most  women. 

"Remember,"  she  said,  with  dignity,  "I  will  give  you 
the  property  you  demand,  partly  for  the  benefit  of  Ruth 
Jessup,  and  partly  because  I  would  save  my  guardian 
from  annoyance.  Not  that  I  for  one  moment  believe 
the  horrid  thing  you  have  told  me.  I  know  it  to  be  an. 
impossibility." 


THE     PRICE     OF     A     LIFE.  381 

"  The  courts  will  think  their  own  way  about  that," 
answered  Storms.  "An  honest  man's  oath,  backed  with 
this  letter,  will  be  tough  things  to  explain  there/' 

"  It  is  because  they  are  difficult  to  explain  that  I  have 
listened  to  you  for  a  moment/7  said  Lady  Kose.  "  For 
twice  the  reward  you  demand,  I  would  not  have  a  sus 
picion  thrown  on  my  guardian's  son.  Of  any  more  serious 
evil  I  have  no  fear." 

"  Well,  my  lady,  take  it  your  own  way,  believe  what 
you  like.  So  long  as  I  get  the  property,  and  the  wife  I 
want,  we  won't  quarrel  about  what  they  are  given  for. 
Only  both  those  things  I  am  bound  to  have." 

"  But  I  cannot  force  Euth  Jessup  to  marry  any  man,'7 
said  Lady  Rose. 

"All  the  same.  It  is  your  business  now  to  see  that 
she  keeps  to  her  old  bargain.  Or  all  we  have  agreed 
upon  goes  for  nothing." 

The  man  was  getting  more  familiar,  as  this  conver 
sation  went  on.  The  sensitive  pride  of  the  young  lady 
was  aroused  by  his  growing  demands,  and  she  dismissed 
him,  almost  haughtily. 

"  Go  now,"  she  said.  "  I  will  think  of  a  safe  method 
by  which  this  transfer  can  be  made.  In  a  day  or  two  I 
will  see  you  again.  Till  then  be  silent,  and  prepare 
yourself  to  deliver  up  that  paper." 

"  But  Ruth  Jessup.     What  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  will  see  Ruth.  She  has  a  kind  heart.  I  will  see 
Ruth." 

"Then  good-day,  my  lady.  You  shall  see  that  I 
know  how  to  hold  my  tongue,  and  remember  kindness 
too  !  Good-day,  my  lady." 

Lady  Rose  watched  the  young  man  as  he  glided  off 
through  the  wilderness,  with  flashing  eyes  and  rising 


332  NORSTON'S    REST. 

color.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  held  her  feelings  under 
firm  control.  Now  terror,  loathing,  and  haughty  scorn 
kindled  up  the  soft  beauty  of  her  face  into  something 
grandly  strange. 

"  Slanderer  !  Wretch  !  The  lands  I  do  not  care  for. 
But  that  I  should  be  compelled  to  urge  pretty  Ruth 
Jessup  on  a  creature  like  that.  Can  she  love  him  ?  I 
will  go  at  once,  or  loathing  of  the  task  will  keep  me  back 
forever." 


CHAPTER    LXIY. 


poor  father,  whom  Judith  Hart  had  so  cruelly 
abandoned,  sat  alone  in  the  old  house,  patient  in 
his  broken-hcartedness  and  more  poverty-stricken  than 
ever.  He  had  no  neighbors  near  enough  to  drop  in 
upon  his  solitude,  and  all  wish  for  reading  had  left  him, 
with  the  thankless  girl  he  had  worshipped. 

When  he  came  home  and  found  himself  alone  in  the 
saddest  of  all  sad  hours,  that  in  which  a  day  passes  into 
eternity  with  the  sun,  his  desolation  was  complete.  It  was 
something,  when  the  cow  he  had  petted  into  loving  tame- 
ness  would  come  to  the  garden  wall,  and  look  at  him 
with  her  soft  intelligent  eyes,  as  if  she  knew  of  his  sorrow 
and  longed  to  share  it  with  him.  Sometimes  he  would 
go  out  and  talk  to  her  as  if  she  possessed  human  sensi 
bility — gather  grass  and  wild  flowers,  and  caress  the 
animal's  neck  as  she  licked  them  from  his  hands. 

He  was  sitting  thus  lonely  at  the  window  between 


JUDITH'S    RETURN.  383 

twilight  and  dark,  when  the  figure  of  a  woman  came 
walking  down  the  lane,  that  made  the  almost  dead  pulses 
of  his  heart  stir  rapidly.  It  was  so  like  Judith,  the 
free  movement,  the  very  poise  of  her  head.  The  resem 
blance  almost  made  him  cry  out.  But,  no,  he  had  been 
mistaken  before.  The  dusk  was  gathering.  It  must  be 
some  neighboring  woman  come  to  chat  a  moment  with 
him.  Some  of  the  old  friends  were  kind  enough  for 
that  now  and  then  when  Judith  was  at  home. 

No,  no — it  was  Judith.  He  could  see  her  face  now. 
She  was  smiling,  and  waved  one  hand;  in  the  other 
she  carried  a  bundle  which  did  not  trouble  her  with 
its  weight,  she  was  so  young  and  strong — Judith,  his 
daughter,  come  back  again. 

The  old  man  got  up  from  the  window  and  went  into 
the  porch,  holding  out  his  arms. 

«  Judith  !  Judith  !  Oh,  my  child  !  my  child  ! "  She 
came  up  with  breathless  speed,  flung  her  bundle  down 
on  the  porch,  and  clasped  the  old  man  in  her  arms. 

"  So  you  have  missed  me,  father  ?  Take  that  and 
that  for  loving  me  so." 

She  kissed  his  face,  and  shook  both  his  hands  with 
emphasis ;  then  turned  about,  crossed  the  yard  and  patted 
the  cow  on  its  forehead. 

"  There,  now,  that  I  have  got  all  the  welcome  there 
is  for  me,  let's  go  in  and  strike  a  light.  How  dark 
you  are ! " 

Directly  the  girl  had  a  match  flaring  and  a  candle 
lighted. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  I  will  bring  another  bowl  and 
we  will  have  supper ;  there  is  porridge  enough  for  two." 

There  was  enough  for  two,  though  one  had  the  great 
est  portion,  for  joy  took  away  the  old  man's  appetite.  It 


384  NOBS  TON'S    REST. 

was  enough  for  him  that  he  could  sit  there  with  a  spoon 
in  his  hand,  gazing  at  her.  There  was  not  much  con 
versation  during  this  meal.  The  timid  old  man  asked 
few  questions,  and  Judith  only  said  that  she  had  been  in 
a  servant's  place  away  up  the  railroad,  and  had  brought 
home  her  wages,  or  most  of  them. 

The  girl  had  every  penny  that  she  had  earned  in  her 
bosom,  and  gave  it  to  the  old  man  that  night.  She  had 
walked  all  the  way  from  "  Norston's  Rest,"  that  the  little 
sum  might  be  worth  giving.  So  the  old  man  was  happy 
that  night,  and  after  Judith  had  carried  her  bundle,  in 
which  was  the  red  garment  Storms  had  given  her,  up 
stairs,  he  was  on  his  knees  by  the  unmade  bed,  in  his 
little  room,  with  a  prayer  of  humble  thanksgiving  on  his 
lips,  and  tears  streaming  down  his  face  like  rain. 

The  next  day  Judith  took  up  her  household  work 
with  unusual  energy.  It  was  her  only  resource  from  the 
excitement  of  hopes  and  fears  that  possessed  her.  The 
love  that  had  tempted  her  from  home  was  absorbing  as 
ever ;  but  doubts  and  fears  strong  as  the  love  tormented 
her  continually.  Even  at  the  last  moment  she  had  hesi 
tated  to  leave  the  neighborhood  of  "  Xorston's  Rest." 
There  had  been  something  in  Storms'  manner  that  made 
her  distrust  him. 

But  she  would  wait  patiently.  That  was  her  promise. 
In  three  days  he  had  pledged  himself  to  see  her.  If  he 
failed,  if  he  was  mocking  her,  why,  then — 

Judith  turned  away  from  the  subject  here.  That 
which  might  follow  was  more  than  she  dared  think  of. 

I  have  said  that  the  girl  was  not  all  evil — indeed  what 
human  being  is?  She  loved  this  man  Storms,  with  all 
the  passion  of  an  ardent,  ill-regulated  nature.  Heedless, 
selfish,  nay,  to  a  certain  extent,  wicked,  she  might  be; 
but  deliberate  cruelty  of  action  was  repulsive  to  her — 


RETURN.  385 

that  of  speech  had  its  origin  in  the  jealousy  which  tor 
mented  her  more  than  any  one  else. 

Judith  understood  well  enough  that  the  paper  she  had 
given  to  Storms  might  cause  great  trouble  to  Sir  Noel 
Hurst,  but  her  ideas  of  the  rights  of  property  were  very 
crude,  and  she  could  see  no  reason  why  that  should  not 
be  used  to  win  a  portion  of  the  baronet's  great  wealth, 
for  the  benefit  of  her  lover.  "  Why  should  one  man  be 
so  enormously  rich  without  labor,"  she  reasoned,  (<  and 
another  win  the  bare  necessities  of  life  by  incessant  toil?" 
Judith  had  gathered  these  ideas  from  her  lover,  and 
dwelt  upon  them  in  extenuation  of  her  fault,  when  she 
joined  him  in  a  conspiracy  to  wring  wealth  from  the 
proud  old  man  at  "  Norstou's  Rest." 

After  her  return  home,  the  destitution  of  her  father 
gave  a  new  impulse  to  this  levelling  idea.  She  began  to 
look  on  him  as  a  victim  to  the  injustice  of  society,  and 
persuaded  herself  that  in  the  advancement  of  her  lover's 
projects  she  would  lift  him  out  of  this  miserable  existence. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Judith  kept  silent,  on  this 
subject.  She  longed  to  cheer  and  astonish  the  old  man 
by  the  brilliancy  of  her  projects,  but  Storms  had  forbid 
den  this,  and  she  dared  not  disobey  him. 

On  the  third  day,  this  hoping  and  longing  became 
greatly  intensified.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  each  hour  had 
lengthened  into  a  year.  She  was  constantly  examining 
the  face  of  that  old  brass  clock,  and  reviling  it  in  her 
heart  because  the  hands  went  round  so  slowly. 

When  her  father  came  in,  his  presence  was  more  than 
she  could  bear.  Forced  to  energetic  action  by  her  own 
unrest,  she  had  prepared  his  supper  early  and  after  that 
sent  him  down  to  the  village,  that  he  might  not  detect  the 
fever  of  her  impatience. 
24 


386  NORSTON'S    REST. 

Twice  she  went  down  to  the  orchard  wall  and  came 
back,  disappointed  that  no  one  was  in  sight;  though 
she  knew  that  Storms  would  not  be  there  until  his  ap 
proach  could  be  covered  by  the  evening  shadows. 

At  last  she  sat  down  by  a  window  that  looked  toward 
the  orchard,  resolved  to  wait.  Thus  she  watched  the 
sunset,  while  its  crimson  melted  into  purple,  through 
which  the  stars  began  to  shine.  A  strange,  keen  light 
was  in  her  face,  and  her  eyes  had  the  glitter  of  diamonds 
when  the  first  star  came  out.  Then,  and  not  till  then, 
she  lighted  a  lamp. 

All  was  still  in  the  house.  Far  back  in  the  room  the 
lamp  was  turned  down,  shedding  a  faint  light,  such  as  a 
clouded  moon  might  throw,  around  the  table  on  which  it 
stood,  but  leaving  those  pleasant  shadows  we  love  in  a 
summer's  night  everywhere  else.  Storms  would  not  enter 
the  orchard  until  he  had  seen  that  light.  It  was  the  old 
signal  that  they  both  understood. 

Scarcely  had  this  faint  illumination  brightened  the 
room,  when  Judith  saw  something  flutter  above  the  wall, 
as  if  a  great  bird  had  settled  there  and  was  ready  to  fly 
again.  She  leaped  to  her  feet,  snatched  up  a  shawl  that 
had  been  laid  across  a  chair  in  readiness,  and  hurried 
through  the  back  door,  folding  the  drapery  around  her 
as  she  went. 


Otf     THE     PRECIPICE.  387 

CHAPTER    LXY. 

ON     THE     PRECIPICE. 

T3ICHARD  STORMS  was  there,  leaning  against  the 
JL\>  wall.  He  reached  out  his  hand  to  help  her  over 
— an  attention  that  made  the  heart  leap  in  her  bosom. 

"  Oh,  Richard,  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come,"  she 
exclaimed,  clinging  fondly  to  his  arm. 

"  Hush,"  he  said,  "  wait  till  we  get  farther  from  the 
house.  The  old  man  will  hear  us." 

"  No,  no.  He  is  down  in  the  village.  I  sent  him 
away." 

This  was  what  Storms  wished  to  learn,  but  in  his  sub 
tle  craft  he  would  not  ask  the  question  directly. 

"  He  knows  nothing — you  have  not  told  him  that  I 
might  be  here?"  he  questioned. 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  That  is  wise.  He  might  be  talking  to  the  neighbors 
and  set  them  clamoring  at  you  again.  I  shouldn't  like 
that,  just  as  everything  is  coming  right  with  us." 

"  There's  no  danger  of  that ;  he  speaks  to  no  one — poor 
old  man.  The  neighbors  know  nothing  about  my  leav 
ing  home ;  he  felt  it  too  much  for  talking." 

"  Of  course,  and  you  got  back  safely  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes.  How  good  of  you  to  ask !  But  you  have 
something  to  tell  me." 

"  Let  us  walk  farther  on,"  said  Storms,  passing  his  arm 
around  the  girl's  waist. 

Thus  persuasive  in  his  speech  and  unusually  affec 
tionate  in  manner,  Storms  led  the  girl  down  the  orchard 
path.  Once  under  the  old  apple  tree  where  their  last 


388  NORSTON'S   REST. 

stormy  interview  had  taken  place,  be  paused  and  leaned 
against  the  trunk,  while  she  stood  before  him,  waiting  for 
the  information  he  had  brought  with  some  impatience ; 
for,  with  all  his  strange  gentleness,  few  words  had  been 
spoken  on  the  way. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  have  you  brought  no  news — good 
or  bad  ?  Have  you  seen  Sir  Noel  ?  " 

"No." 

"  No  !     Why  not?     Afraid  to  go  on,  were  you  ?  " 

"Afraid?  You,  Judith,  ought  to  know  me  better  than 
that.  I  found  an  easier  way  of  getting  what  I  want. 
Women,  after  all,  are  safest  to  deal  with.  Instead  of  a 
farm  I  shall  have  land  in  my  own  right." 

"  You  will !     You  are  sure ;  and  I  gave  it  to  you  !  " 

Storms  made  no  reply  to  this  exultant  outburst,  but 
went  on  counting  over  the  benefits  he  had  secured  with 
tantalizing  particularity. 

"In  one  week  from  now,  I  shall  be  a  rich  land 
holder,  with  plenty  of  money  in  my  pocket,  and  a  house 
that  any  gentleman  in  England  might  be  proud  to  take 
his  lady  into." 

Judith's  eyes  flashed  triumphantly. 

"It  was  I  who  helped  you  to  all  this  land,  money, 
the  grand  house  we  shall  live  in.  Oh,  who  ever  thought 
that  a  bit  of  crumpled  paper  would  do  so  much?" 

Storms  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  prepared  to  walk 
onward. 

Judith  saw  this,  and  her  temper,  always  ready  to  take 
fire,  kindled  up. 

"  You  lift  your  shoulders — you  keep  silent  when  I 
speak  of  the  paper  which  brought  all  these  grand  things, 
as  if  you  did  not  mean  to  give  me  credit  for  giving  it  to 
you." 


ON     THE     PRECIPICE.  389 

"  What  would  the  paper  have  been  without  a  shrewd 
man  to  use  it  ?  Besides,  you  found  it  in  the  bushes  where 
any  other  person  might  have  picked  it  up." 

Judith  felt  a  strange  choking  in  her  throat. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Richard  Storms?" 

"  Mean  ?  why,  nothing.  Only  it  is  getting  stormy  here. 
When  you  lift  your  voice  in  that  way,  it  might  be  heard 
from  the  house.  Walk  on ;  you  have  nothing  to  flare  up 
about." 

There  was  something  in  the  man's  voice  that  would 
have  warned  Judith,  but  for  her  own  rising  temper. 
As  it  was,  she  walked  toward  the  precipice,  sometimes 
keeping  ahead,  and  looking  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 
He  certainly  looked  pale  in  the  moonlight. 

"  Now,  Richard,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  offish 
talk  ?  Is  it  that  you  want  to  get  rid  of  your  promise, 
with  all  these  twistings  and  turnings?" 

When  Judith  put  this  question,  she  had  halted  close 
by  the  brink  of  the  precipice  and  turned  around,  facing 
the  young  man,  who  came  up  more  slowly. 

Storms  attempted  to  laugh,  but  he  was  too  hoarse  for 
that. 

"  I  haven't  said  a  word  about  being  off;  but,  if  I  had, 
all  this  temper  wouldn't  hold  me  back.  What  should 
hinder  me  doing  as  I  please?  The  paper  was  as  much 
mine  as  yours." 

"  What  should  hinder  you,  Dick  Storms  ?  Don't  ask 
me  that.  I  do  not  want  to  talk  about  the  things  I  saw, 
that  night." 

Judith  stood  close  to  the  precipice  as  she  said  this, 
between  the  very  edge  and  Storms,  who  strode  forward 
till  his  white  sinister  face  was  close  to  hers. 

"  You  saw  what?  No  more  hints,  I  am  tired  of  them. 
You  saw  what?" 


390  NO  ESTOP'S    BEST. 

"  I  will  not  talk  about  it  here.  When  I  do  speak,  it 
will  be  to  Sir  Noel  Hurst/'  answered  the  girl,  bravely. 

"Sir  Noel  Hurst  will  be  very  likely  to  believe  you 
against  my  oath,  and  the  paper  signed  by  Jessup  himself." 

"The  paper  that  I  gave  you,  fool  that  I  was !" 

"  Exactly,  if  you  could  not  trust  me." 

"I  did  trust  you — I  did  shield  you.  I  gave  you  the 
paper.  I  kept  still  as  the  grave  about  what  I  saw  that 
night." 

"Still  as  the  grave — there  is  no  stillness  like  that," 
said  the  man,  in  a  voice  so  hoarse  and  strange  that  Judith 
instinctively  attempted  to  draw  side  way  from  her  perilous 
position. 

But  Storms  changed  as  she  did,  still  with  his  face  to 
hers,  pressing  her  toward  the  edge. 

"If  I  kept  back  another  paper,  it  was  because  I  meant 
to  give  it  you  on  our  wedding  day,  and  prove  how  much 
a  poor  girl  could  do  toward  saving  the  man  she  loved 
from—" 

"From  what?"  questioned  Storms,  throwing  his  arm' 
around  the  girl  and  drawing  her  back  from  the  precipice, 
as  if  he  had  for  the  first  time  seen  her  danger.     "  Of 
what  are  you  speaking,  Judith  ?  " 

"  Of  a  paper  I  found  in  the  dress  that  was  taken  off 
William  Jessup  after  he  died,  which  makes  the  one  I 
gave  you  of  no  worth  at  all." 

"You  have  such  a  paper,  and  kept  it  back?"  The 
man  absolutely  threw  a  tone  of  tender  reproach  into  a 
voice  that  had  been  cold  as  ice  and  bitter  as  gall  a 
minute  before.  "Let  me  read  it;  the  moonlight  is  strong 
enough." 

"  It  is  not  with  me.  I  have  put  it  by  in  safe  hiding, 
meaning  to  burn  it  before  your  face  and  pay  you  for  the 
marriage  lines  with  your  life." 


ON     THE     PKECIPICE.  391 

Storms  drew  the  girl  farther  away  from  the  precipice, 
for  he  feared  to  trust  the  instinct  of  destruction  that  had 
brought  him  there,  and  would  not  all  at  once  be  sub 
dued.  He  felt  that  his  own  life  was,  for  the  time,  bound 
up  in  hers,  and  absolutely  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  the 
fate  from  which  a  word  had  saved  him  and  her. 

For  a  time  they  walked  back  to  the  orchard  in  silent 
disturbance:  she  unconscious  of  the  awful  danger  she 
had  run  ;  he  pondering  new  schemes  in  his  mind. 
"  Why  will  you  always  doubt  me  ?  "  he  said,  at  last. 
"  Because  you  force  me  to  doubt/7  she  answered,  almost 
patiently,  for  the  ebb-tide  of  her  anger  had  set  in. 

"  No ;  it  is  your  own  bad  temper,  which  always  drives 
me  into  teasing  you.     I  have  the  license  in  my  pocket, 
and  came  to  settle  everything." 
"The  license!'7 

At  this  word  Judith  turned  her  face  to  the  moonlight, 
and  Storms  saw  that  his  falsehood  had  done  its  work. 

"  While  you  have  been  doubting  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
look  and  tone  of  deep  injury,  "  I  have  been  upon  my 
knees  almost,  persuading  the  old  people  to  give  up  this 
Jessup  girl,  and  take  you  in  her  place." 
"And  they  have  ?     Oh,  Richard  ! " 
"  I  came  to  set  the  day  when  you  would  come  to  the 
farm  and  stop  a  bit  with  the  old  mother." 

"Ah  ! "  said  Judith,  with  tears  iii  her  eyes,  "  I  cannot 
remember  when  I  had  a  mother." 

Storms  lifted  his  hand  impatiently.  Even  he  shrunk 
from  using  the  name  of  his  kind  old  mother  as  a  snare 
for  the  girl. 

"  You  will  say  nothing  of  this  to  your  father,  or  of  my 
'coming  here  at  all.  When  we  are  wedded  and  ready  to 
start  for  the  new  home,  it  will  be  a  grand  surprise  for 
him." 


392  HOUSTON'S    REST. 

"  Shall  we — oil,  Richard,  shall  we  take  him  with  us  ?" 
cried  Judith. 

"  That  may  be  as  yon  wish.     I  will  not  object." 

"Oh,  Richard,  I  would  give  up  that  horrible  paper 
now  if  I  had  it  with  me !  " 

"  No,  let  it  rest  until  I  can  exchange  it  for  the  mar 
riage  lines ;  then  it  will  be  as  much  for  your  interest  as 
mine  that  it  should  be  made  ashes  of.  But  be  sure  and 
have  it  about  you  then." 

"  I  will,  I  will.  Only  it  is  like  putting  a  snake  in  my 
bosom  when  I  hide  it  there." 

"And  that  pretty  dress.  Leave  nothing  behind  you. 
On  the  second  day  from  this  I  will  be  at  the  nearest 
station.  Meet  me  there,  but  mind  that  no  one  sees  us 
speaking  to  each  other." 

"  I  will  be  careful." 

"  Good-night,  then." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  wistfully,  as  if  she  expected 
something  more ;  but  Storms  only  reached  out  his  hand. 
He  was  not  quite  a  Judas,  and  did  iiot  kiss  her. 


CHAPTER    LXYL 

SIR     NOEL     AND     RUTH. 

SIR  NOEL  HURST  had  been  left  standing  in  his 
library,  white  and  stately,  like  a  man  turned  into 
marble.  That  one  hideous  word  had  struck  him  with 
the  force  of  a  blow.  In  the  suppressed  rage  of  the  mo 
ment  he  had  sent  Storms  from  his  presence,  scarcely  com 
prehending  the  charge  he  had  made  or  the  price  for 


SIR     NOEL     AND     RUTH.  393 

secrecy  that  he  demanded.  Still,  audacious  and  unbe 
lievable  as  the  man's  charge  was,  it  aroused  reflections  in 
the  father's  mind  that  had  hardly  taken  form  before. 
For  months  and  months  he  had  been  vaguely  uneasy 
about  his  sou.  With  the  keen  perceptions  of  a  man 
of  the  world,  he  had,  without  spying  upon  Walton, 
observed  him  anxiously.  He  knew  that  more  of  his  time 
was  spent  about  the  gardener's  cottage  than  seemed  con 
sistent  with  any  interest  he  could  have  felt  in  William 
Jessup.  He  saw  that  the  young  daughter,  whom  he 
could  with  difficulty  look  upon  as  more  than  a  child, 
was,  in  fact,  a  wonderfully  beautiful  girl.  Beyond  all 
this  he  perceived  that,  day  by  day,  the  young  man  drifted 
from  his  home,  that  the  society  of  Lady  Rose  was  almost 
abandoned,  and  that  this  fair  young  patrician  drooped 
under  the  change. 

On  the  night  when  the  young  man  was  found  lying  so 
deathly  and  still  across  the  forest-path,  these  observations 
had  deepened  into  grave  anxiety.  Tie  became  certain 
that  some  more  dangerous  feeling  than  he  had  been 
willing  to  believe  must  have  drawn  his  son  into  the  peril 
of  his  life.  The  anguish  in  Ruth's  face;  the  piteous 
humility  with  which  she  shrunk  from  observation, 
alarmed  him  ;  for  the  girl  had  been,  from  her  very  in 
fancy,  a  pet  at  the  great  house,  and  underneath  all  other 
anxiety  was  a  feeling  of  paternal  interest  in  her. 

That  some  dispute  had  arisen,  of  which  Ruth  was  the 
object,  he  had  never  doubted,  and  that  both  men  had  been 
injured  in  a  rash  contest  seemed  natural.  All  this  was 
hard  enough  for  a  proud,  sensitive  man  to  bear  in 
patience ;  but  these  apprehensions  had  been  held  in  abey 
ance  during  his  son's  illness  by  deeper  anxiety  for  his 
life,  and  now  from  sorrow  over  the  death  of  a  faithful 


394  NORSTON'S   REST. 

old  servant,  to  whom  every  member  of  the  family  was 
attached. 

All  these  perplexities  and  suspicions  had  been  fear 
fully  aroused  by  the  charge  and  proposal  of  young 
Storms.  Not  that  the  baronet  gave  anything  but  a 
scornful  dismissal  of  either  from  his  mind,  but  his  old 
anxieties  were  kindled  anew,  and  he  resolved  to  break 
at  once  the  tie  that  had  drawn  his  son  so  often  to  the 
cottage,  or,  at  least,  make  himself  master  of  its  nature. 
Had  young  Hurst  been  out  of  danger  from  excitement, 
perhaps  Sir  Noel  would  have  broken  the  subject  to  him  ; 
but  he  had  carefully  avoided  it,  fearing  some  evil  effect 
during  his  illness,  and  now  was  cautious  to  give  no  sign 
of  the  uneasiness  that  possessed  him.  So,  with  the  sting 
of  a  rude  insult  urging  him  on,  he  went  to  Jessup's 
cottage. 

Ruth  was  lying  in  the  little  parlor,  weak  and  helpless 
as  a  crushed  flower,  all  her  rich  color  gone,  all  the  vel 
vety  softness  of  her  eyes  clouded.  A  man's  step  on  the 
porch  made  her  start,  and  listen.  She  had  cause  to  dread 
such  steps,  and  they  terrified  her.  A  knock,  measured 
and  gentle — what  if  it  was  her  husband's?  What  if 
Storms  was  on  the  watch  ?  He  must  not  come  in.  That 
was  to  endanger  more  than  his  life.  It  was  her  hard 
task  to  say  this.  Rath  started  up,  crept  to  the  door,  and 
opened  it,  with  trembling  hands. 

"Sir  Noel!" 

The  name  scarcely  formed  itself  on  her  lips,  when  she 
shrunk  back  from  the  baronet's  stern  countenance,  won 
dering  what  new  sorrow  was  coming  upon  her. 

Sir  Noel  had  always  liked  the  girl,  and  her  sad  be 
reavement  awoke  his  compassion.  Almost  before  she  had 
spoken  he  felt  the  cruelty  of  his  errand.  It  was  impos- 


SIR     NOEL     AND     RUTH.  395 

sible  to  look  into  those  eyes,  and  think  ill  of  a  creature 
so  helpless  and  so  beautiful.  But  the  very  loveliness 
that  disarmed  him  had  brought  death  to  her  own  father, 
and  threatened  disgrace  to  his  son.  The  plans  he  had 
formed  for  that  son — the  future  advancement  of  his 
house — all  were  in  peril,  unless  she  could  be  removed 
from  the  young  man's  path.  This  must  be  done.  Still 
he  would  deal  gently  with  her. 

Sir  Noel  had  sought  the  cottage  with  a  quickly-formed 
resolution  to  urge  on  the  marriage  of  its  inmate  with  the 
man  who  had  exhibited  some  right  to  claim  her ;  but  as 
he  stood  on  the  threshold,  with  that  young  girl  trembling 
before  him,  this  thought  took  a  form  so  hideous,  that  he 
almost  hated  himself  for  having  formed  it. 

Ruth  went  into  the  little  parlor,  trembling  with  ap 
prehension.  Sir  Noel  followed  her.  Here  his  heart 
nearly  failed  him.  He  felt  the  cruelty  of  harassing  her 
with  new  troubles,  when  sorrow  lay  so  heavily  upon 
her ;  but  anxiety  urged  him  on  against  his  better  nature. 

"  Poor  child  ! "  he  said,  gently.  "  I  see  that  you  have 
suffered ;  so  young,  too.  It  is  hard  ! " 

Ruth  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face,  as  if  wondering  that 
any  one — he,  most  of  all — could  pity  her.  Then  she  said, 
with  touching  sadness, 

"  It  is  hard,  and  I  am  so  tired." 

"  I  too  have  had  trouble,"  said  the  baronet.  "  For 
many  days  we  feared  that  Walton — " 

"  I  know !  I  know !  He  came  near  dying,  like  my 
father — the  best  father  that  ever  lived." 

Ruth  spoke  low  and  nervously.  The  presence  of 
"Walton's  father  filled  her  with  apprehension.  Yet  she 
longed  to  fall  at  his  feet,  and  implore  him  to  forgive  her. 
,  "  Ruth,"  said  Sir  Noel,  seating  the  poor  girl  on  the 


396  NORSTON'S   REST. 

sofa,  and  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  "  Ruth,  try  and 
think  that  it  is  your  father  who  asks  you  :  and  answer 
me  from  your  soul.  Does  my  son  love  you  ?  " 

A  flash  of  hot  scarlet  swept  that  desolate  face.  The 
eyelids  drooped  over  those  startled  eyes.  Euth  tried  to 
draw  her  hands  away. 

"Answer  me,  child." 

He  spoke  very  gently,  so  gently  that  she  could  not 
help  answering. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  soft  whisper.     "  He  loves  me." 

"And  you?" 

Euth  lifted  her  pleading  eyes  to  his — those  great, 
innocent  eyes,  and  answered,  humbly, 

"How  could  I  help  it?" 

"  How  long  is  this  since,  Ruth  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  seems  to  me  always;  but  he 
knows  best.0 

"  But,  my  poor  child,  how  do  you  expect  this  to  end  ?" 

"  It  is  ended  !  oh,  it  is  ended  !  I  wish  you  would  tell 
him  so,  Sir  Noel.  I  must  never,  never  see  him  again." 

Ruth  threw  both  arms  over  the  end  of  the  sofa,  and, 
burying  her  face  upon  them,  broke  into  a  wild  passion 
of  sobs. 

Sir  Noel  was  touched  by  this  helpless  acquiescence. 
He  bent  over  her  sadly  enough. 

"  No,  Ruth,  you  never  must  see  him  again." 

"I  know  it— I  know  it!" 

"There  is  another  who  loves  you,"  he  said,  shrinking 
from  the  idea  of  giving  that  girl  to  the  crafty  ruffian 
who  had  dared  to  threaten  him.  It  seemed  like  an 
insult  to  his  son  thus  to  dispose  of  the  creature  that  son 
had  loved,  and  evidently  respected ;  but  he  was  not  pre 
pared  for  the  wild  outburst  of  anguish  that  followed  his 


SIB     NOEL     AND     EUTH.  397 

words.     Euth  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  widening,  her 
wet  face  contracted. 

"  You  will  not — you  must  not  ask  that  of  me.  I  will 
die  first." 

"  Be  it  so.  I  will  not  urge  you,"  answered  the  baronet, 
soothingly.  "Only  promise  me  never  to  see  Walton 
again  ! " 

"  I  must !  I  do  !  Oh,  believe  me !  I  never,  never 
must  see  him  again  ! " 

"  You  must  go  away  !" 
!    "Oh,  if  I  could— if  I  only  could !" 

"  It  must  be,  my  poor  child.  Some  place  of  refuge 
shall  be  found." 

Ruth  lifted  her  face  with  sudden  interest. 
"  I  will  see  that  you  are  cared  for.     Only  this  my  son 
must  never  know." 

"He    must    never   know,"   repeated   the   poor   girl. 
"Only,  if  I  should   be  dying,  would  there  be  clanger 
then?     Only  when  I  am  dying?" 
"  We  will  not  think  of  that,  Euth." 
"  No.     I  dare  not.     It  tempts  one  so ;  but  the  good 
God  will  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  let  me  live." 

Sir  Noel  was  surprised  at  this  broken-hearted  sub 
mission.  He  had  come  to  the  cottage  prepared  for 
resistance,  perhaps  rebellion,  but  not  for  this.  No  doubt 
of  the  girl's  innocence,  or  of  his  son's  honor,  disturbed 
him  now.  But  this  only  made  his  task  the  more  difficult. 
She  must  be  removed  from  the  neighborhood.  The 
honor  of  his  house — the  future  of  his  son  demanded  it. 

"  I  will  go  now,  Ruth,"  he  said,  with  great  kindness ; 
"  but,  remember,  you  will  never  want  a  comfort  or  a 
friend  while  I  live.  In  a  few  days  1  will  settle  on  some 
safe  and  pleasant  home  for  you." 


398 

Ruth  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  though  she  was  look 
ing  steadily  in  his  face;  but  when  he  dropped  her  hand, 
she  said,  piteously, 

"  You  will  tell  him — you  will  let  him  know  that  it 
was  for  his  sake?" 

"After  you  are  gone,  he  shall  know  everything,  ex 
cept  where  to  find  you." 

Ruth  sunk  back  on  her  seat,  bowed  her  face  drearily, 
and  thus  Sir  Noel  left  her. 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

SHOWING     T II E     WAY. 

"TTTHERE  could  Ruth  go?  She  had  never  been 
»  V  from  home  more  than  once  or  twice  in  her  life. 
Her  world  was  there  lying  about  "  The  Rest " — her  home 
in  that  cottage,  where  she  was  born,  and  her  mother  had 
died.  She  must  leave  it ;  of  course,  she  must  leave  it,  but 
how?  To  what  place  would  Sir  Noel  Hurst  send  her? 
With  that  awful  secret  lying  between  her  and  Richard 
Storms,  would  she  dare  to  go  ?  He  would  avenge  her 
absence  on  Hurst.  She,  no  doubt,  stood  between  him 
and  the  thing  she  shuddered  to  think  of.  AYhat  could 
she  do? 

All  night  long  the  poor  child  lay  asking  herself  these 
questions.  She  had  locked  herself  in  with  the  darkness  as 
the  dusk  came  on,  fearing  that  her  husband  might  come 
— dreading  to  hear  another  step  that  filled  her,  soul  and 
body,  with  loathing.  She  did  hear  a  light  tread  on  the 
turf,  a  gentle  knock  on  the  door,  and  fell  to  weeping  on 


SHOWING     THE     WAY.  399 

her  pillow,  with  sobs  that  filled  the  whole  desolate  house. 
After  these  exhausting  tears  she  slept  a  little,  and  when 
the  daylight  stole  through  the  crevices  of  the  shutters  she 
turned  from  it,  and  lay  with  her  face  to  the  wall,  wonder 
ing  if  she  would  live  the  day  out. 

There  was  no  fire  in  the  cottage  that  day — no  food 
cooked  or  eaten.  Ruth  crept  out  from  her  room  and  lay 
clown  on  the  little  sofa,  faint  and  miserably  helpless. 
The  apathy  of  great  suffering  was  upon  her.  She  was 
hemmed  in  by  darkness,  and  saw  no  way  out. 

Some  time  in  the  morning  she  heard  a  voice  at  the 
casement.  A  white  hand  was  thrust  through  the  ivy, 
and  beat  lightly  on  the  glass. 

"Let  me  in,  Ruth  !  Oh,  let  me  in.  I  must  speak  to 
you ! " 

It  was  Lady  Rose,  who  had  known  little  rest  since  her 
interview  with  Storms  in  the  Wilderness.  A  ring  of 
excitement  was  in  her  voice.  The  face  which  looked  in 
through  the  ivy  was  wildly  white. 

Ruth  arose  and  unlocked  the  door.  She  would  rather 
have  been  alone  in  her  misery  ;  but  what  did  it  matter? 
If  she  had  any  hope,  it  was  that  Lady  Rose  would  not 
speak  of  him.  She  could  bear  anything  but  that. 

"  Poor  Ruth  !  How  ill — how  miserably  ill  you  look," 
said  the  lady,  taking  the  hot  hands  that  seemed  to  avoid 
her  with  a  sudden  clasp.  "  Death,  even  a  father's  death, 
cannot  have  done  all  this." 

Ruth  shook  her  head  sorrowfully. 

"  My  father — I  have  almost  forgotten  him." 

Lady  Rose  scarcely  heeded  this  mournful  confession  ; 
but  drew  the  girl  down  upon  the  sofa,  unconsciously 
grasping  her  hands  till  they  would  have  made  her  cry 
out  with  pain  at  another  time. 


400  X  O  R  S  T  O  X '  S     REST. 

"  Ruth,  I  have  seen  Storms,  a  man  you  know  of.  I 
met  him  in  the  wilderness.  He  told  me — "  ' 

"He  told  you  that !  "  exclaimed  Ruth,  aroused  to  new 
pangs  of  distress.  "And  you  believed  him  ?  " 

"Oh,  Ruth,  he  has  your  father's  letter.  We  could 
laugh  his  proof  to  scorn,  but  for  that." 

"Still,  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Ruth,  kindling  into 
vitality  again.  "  It  was  my  father's  letter.  I  carried  it, 
not  knowing  what  was  written.  My  poor  father  believed 
it,  no  doubt ;  but  I  do  not.'7 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  Lady  Rose.  "  Nothing  can  make  me 
believe  it ! " 

Ruth  threw  herself  at  the  young  lady's  feet,  and  clung 
to  her  in  passionate  gratitude. 

"  Get  up,  Ruth  !  "  said  Lady  Rose.  "  Be  strong,  be 
magnanimous,  for  you  alone  can  save  Walton  Hurst's 
life." 

The  girl  got  up  obediently,  but  seemed  turning  to 
marble  as  she  did  so ;  for  she  guessed  at  the  impossibility 
that  would  be  demanded  of  her. 

"I?  How?"  she  questioned,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 
"How?" 

"  You  and  I.     It  rests  with  us." 

Ruth  breathed  heavily. 

"You  and  I!" 

"  This  wretch — forgive  me — this  man,  Storms,  wants 
two  things — land  and  gold.  These  I  can  give  him, 
and  will." 

"Yes,  yes." 

"But  he  wants  something  else  which  I  cannot  give, 
and  on  that  all  the  rest  depends." 

Ruth  did  not  speak.     She  grew  cold  again. 

"  He  wants  you,  Ruth." 


SHOWING     THE     WAY.  401 

No  word,  not  even  a  movement  of  the  lip  answered 
this. 

"  He  says/'  continued  Lady  Rose,  "  that  you  love  him ; 
that  you  are,  of  your  own  free  will,  pledged  to  him." 

"It  is  false!" 

The  words  startled  Lady  Rose. 

"  Oh,  Ruth,  do  not  say  that.     We  have  no  other  hope." 

"But  he,  Walton  Hurst  I  mean,  is  innocent.  You 
know  it — I  know  it." 

"  But  this  man  holds  the  proof  that  would  cost  his  life, 
false  or  true.  It  is  in  his  hands,  and  we  cannot  wrest  it 
from  them." 

"Is  this  true,  Lady  Rose?" 

" Fatally,  fearfully  true;  God  help  us!  Oh,  Ruth, 
why  do  you  hesitate  to  save  him  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  hesitate  !  " 

"  You  will  rescue  him  from  this  terrible  accusation  ? 
You  will  complete  the  engagement,  and  get  that  awful 
letter?  To  think  that  he  is  in  this  great  danger,  and 
does  not  know  it !  To  think  that  his  salvation  lies  in 
our  hands.  What  I  can  do  is  nothing.  It  will  be  you 
that  saves  him." 

"  I  cannot !     I  cannot !  " 

"  Ruth  Jessup  !     You  refuse  ?     You  have  the  power 
to  save  him,  and  will  not?  " 
t    "God  help  me!     God  help  me,  I  cannot  do  it." 

Lady  Rose  turned  away  from  the  girl  haughtily,  an 
grily. 

"And  I  could  think  that  she  loved  Walton  Hurst," 
she  said,  in  bitterness  of  heart. 

"  Oh,  do  not,  do  not  condemn  me.     If  you  only  knew 
— if  you  only  knew,"  cried  Ruth,  wringing  her  hands  in 
wild  desperation. 
25 


402  NOESTON'S    REST. 

"I  know  that  you  could  save  him  from  death,  and  his 
whole  family  from  dishonor,  and  will  not.  That  is 
enough.  I  will  importune  you  no  longer.  Had  it  been 
me,  I,  the  daughter  of  an  earl,  would  have  wedded  that 
man,  yes — though  he  were  twice  the  fiend  he  is — rather 
than  let  this  thunderbolt  fall  on  a  noble  house,  on  as 
brave  and  true  a  man  as  ever  lived." 

"  He  is  brave,  he  is  true,  and  you  are  his  peer.  You 
are  worthy  of  him,  heart  and  soul,  and  I  am  not.  But 
you  might  pity  me  a  little,  because  I  cannot  do  what 
would  save  him." 

"  Because  you  are  incapable  of  a  great  sacrifice.  Well, 
I  do  pity  you.  As  for  me,  I  would  die  rather  than,  he 
should  even  know  of  the  peril  that  threatens  him." 

"Die?     Die?" 

A  sudden  illumination  swept  the  white  face  of  Ruth 
Jessup.  Her  eyes  took  fire,  her  breath  rose  in  quick 
gasps,  out  of  which  came  those  two  words.  Then  an 
other  question — would  a  death  save  him  ? 

"  If  my  death  could  do  it,  I  need  not  have  come  to 
you,"  answered  Lady  Rose,  proudly. 

"  True,  true,  I  can  see  that.  Do  not  think  so  hardly 
of  me.  I  am  not  born  to  bravery,  as  you  are.  My 
father  was  only  a  poor  gardener.  When  great  sacrifices 
are  asked  of  me,  I  may  want  a  little  time.  You  should 
not  be  angry  with  me  for  that." 

Lady  Rose  turned  eagerly. 

"You  relent.     You  have  a  heart,  then?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will  save  him.  In  another  week  his 
path  and  yours  shall  be  clear  and  bright. 

"Mine?  Mine?  Xo,  no  !  Can  you  think  I  do  not 
understand  all  that  you  meditate,  all  that  you  may  suffer 
iu  a  marriage  with  this  man  ?  I  spoke  of  dying.  The 


SHOWING     THE     W  A  Y*.  403 

self-abnegation  you  promise  is  a  thousand  times  worse 
than  death.  Ruth  Jessup,  I  envy  you  the  power  of  so 
grand  a  sacrifice :  I  could  make  it  as  you  will ;  and  you 
could  give  tip  everything,  taking  no  share  in  the  future 
as  I  will.  When  this  cloud  is  swept  from.  *  Norston's 
Rest/  I  leave  it  forever."  ;  1 

Excitement  had  kept  Lady  Rose  proud  and  strong 
till  now ;  but  in  place  of  this  a  great  swell  of  pity,  and 
self-pity,  filled  her  heart.  Reaching  out  her  arms,  she 
drew  Ruth  into  them,  and  wept  passionately  on  her 
shoulder,  murmuring  thanks,  endearments,  and  tender 
compassion  in  wild  and  broken  snatches. 

As  for  Ruth,  she  had  become  the  strongest  of  the  two, 
and,  in  her  gentle  way,  strove  to  comfort  the  lady,  who 
stood  upright  after  a  while,  and,  pushing  the  young  or 
phan  from  her,  searched  her  face,  as  if  to  make  sure  of 
her  firmness. 

"  How  calm,  how  still  you  look,  girl !  Tell  me  again 
that  you  will  not  fail." 

"  I  will  not  fail." 

"  But  you  will  let  me  do  something.  We  shall  both 
go  away  from  here,  you  to  a  new  home,  far  from  this ;  a 
pretty  home,  Ruth,  and  I  to  an  estate  very  near,  where 
we  will  be  such  friends  as  the  world  never  saw.  This 
hour  has  made  us  so.  That  which  you  are  doing  for 
him  I  will  help  you  to  endure." 

Ruth  smiled  very  sadly.  Lady  Rose  kissed  her,  pre 
paring  to  go. 

"  How  cold  your  lips  are !  how  I  have  made  you 
suffer  !  "  she  said,  drawing  back,  chilled. 

"  It  will  not  last,"  answered  Ruth,  quietly.  "  Take 
no  further  trouble  about  me.  I  have  not  felt  so  much 
at  rest  since  my  father  died." 


404 

"  If  I  only  knew  how  to  thank  you/' 

"  I  should  thank  you  for  pointing  out  the  way ;  but 
for  that  I  might  never  have  known,"  answered  Ruth, 
gently. 

"You  will  have  saved  him,  and  he  will  never  know. 
That  seems  hard ;  still,  there  may  come  a  time —  But, 
you  are  growing  pale  again ;  I  only  paiu  you.  Good-by, 
for  a  while." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Ruth,  faintly. 


CHAPTER   LXVIII. 

FORSAKING     HER     HOME. 

P)UTH  stood  perfectly  motionless,  until  the  light 
-*-  ^  tread  of  Lady  Rose  died  out  on  the  turf.  Then 
she  sat  down  and  fell  into  thought,  so  deep  and  dreary, 
that  it  seemed  like  waking  from  a  trance,  when  she 
looked  up,  and  saw  that  the  west  was  all  aflame  with 
scarlet,  and  drenched  in  great  seas  of  gold.  Then  she 
arose,  and  went  into  her  little  chamber.  Up  to  this  time 
her  eyes  had  been  dry ;  but  some  tender  recollection 
seemed  to  strike  her,  as  she  looked  around,  and  instantly 
they  were  flooded  with  tears.  She  busied  herself  about 
the  old-fashioned  bureau  a  while,  apparently  selecting 
such  little  objects  as  her  husband  had,  from  time  to  time, 
given  her.  Then  she  took  the  prayer-book  from  her 
toilet,  in  order  to  secure  the  marriage  certificate,  which 
had  been  placed  between  its  leaves. 

"  They  must  not  find  this  here,"  she  thought.    "  Noth 
ing  shall  be  left  to  show  that  he  ever  loved  me." 


FORSAKING     HER     HOME.  405 

Then  she  took  the  ring  from  her  bosom,  and,  folding 
it  up  in  a  bit  of  silk  paper  with  pathetic  care,  laid  that, 
too,  within  the  leaves  of  the  book,  and  made  a  package 
of  the  whole. 

It  was  dark  now,  and,  for  a  little  time,  she  lay  down 
upon  her  white  bed,  and  there,  with  folded  hands,  strove 
to  reason  with  herself.  "  When  the  man  who  hates  him 
so  hears  all,  and  knows  that  the  poor  girl  he  is  hunting 
to  death  is  far,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  love  or  hate,  he 
will  content  himself  with  the  lady's  land  and  gold,"  she 
thought.  "  She,  too,  will  go  away,  and  find  happiness ; 
for  he  will  seek  her  out,  not  too  soon,  I  know  that,  but 
after  a  while,  and  never  knowing  how  it  came  to  be  so, 
will  give  his  heart  to  her. 

"  Then  I  shall  be  forgotten — forgotten  !  Ah,  me,  why 
was  I  born  to  bring  such  trouble  on  every  one  that  loved 
me?  He  will  mourn.  Oh,  yes,  he  will  mourn!  He 
never  can  help  that,  for  he  loved  me — he  loved  me  I" 

She  thought  this  all  over  and  over,  with  mournful 
persistency.  The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  was  strong  upon 
her ;  but  not  the  less  did  all  the  sweet  tenderness  of  her 
woman's  nature  dwell  upon  the  objects  of  love  she  was 
giving  up. 

The  night  darkened.  She  heard  the  old  clock  down 
stairs  tolling  out  the  hours  that  were  numbered  to  her 
now.  Then  she  got  up,  struck  a  light,  and  opened  her 
desk.  There  was  something  to  be  written — a  painful 
thing  to  be  done. 

The  paper  was  before  her,  the  pen  in  her  hand.  What 
could  she  say?  how  begin  a  letter  which  was  to  rend  the 
heart  that  loved  her?  How  could  she  make  that  young 
husband  comprehend  the  anguish  with  which  she  cast 
herself  on  the  earth  to  save  him,  when  he  was  conscious 


406  NORSTON'S    BEST. 

of  no  danger !  She  began  to  write  swiftly,  paused,  and 
fell  into  thought;  began  again,  and  went  on,  sobbing 
piteously,  and  forming  her  words  almost  at  random. 

When  her  letter  was  finished,  she  folded  it,  cast  her 
arms  across  the  desk,  and  broke  the  solemn  silence  of  the 
room  with  low,  faint  moans,  that  are  the  most  painful 
expression  of  hopeless  anguish. 

Again  the  clock  struck,  and  every  brazen  time-call 
fell  on  her  heart  like  a  bullet.  *  She  got  up,  as  if  in 
obedience  to  some  cruel  command.  Instead  of  her 
scarlet  jacket,  and  the  hat,  whose  cluster  of  red  roses 
gleamed  in  the  candle-light,  she  put  on  the  soft  gray 
dress  worn  on  that  fatal  wedding  morning.  Then  she 
placed  the  letter  she  had  written  on  the  prayer-book. 
After  this,  Ruth  went  slowly  down-stairs,  carrying  the 
candle  and  package  in  one  hand. 

A  gust  of  wind  from  the  door,  as  she  opened  it,  put 
out  the  light.  Thus  she  left  nothing  but  darkness  in 
her  old  home. 

Ruth  looked  around  warily,  for  even  in  that  fearful 
hour  she  remembered  the  threat  of  her  tormentor,  and 
dreaded  some  harm  to  the  beloved  being  she  was  deter 
mined  to  save. 

The  moon  was  buried  in  clouds,  storm-clouds,  that 
made  the  whole  landscape  funereal,  like  the  heart  of  that 
poor  girl.  She  went  through  shrubberies  and  flower 
beds,  straight  toward  the  window  of  Walton  Hurst's 
room.  Pulling  aside  the  ivy,  she  mounted  the  half-con 
cealed  step,  not  cautiously,  as  she  had  done  on  another 
occasion,  but  with  a  concentration  of  feeling  which  left 
fear  behind. 

It  was  a  warm,  close  night,  and  a  leaf  of  the  casement 
was  partly  open.  She  thrust  it  back,  with  a  swiftness 


FORSAKING     HER     HOME.  407 

that  gave  no  sound,  and  stepped  into  the  room.  Hurst 
was  lying  on  the  bed  asleep.  Illness  had  left  its  traces 
upon  his  features,  and  his  hands  lay  clasped,  loosely,  on 
the  counterpane.  Something  more  sombre  than  the 
shadows  thrown  by  the  dim  lamp  lay  upon  his  fine  face. 
Anxiety  had  done  its  work,  as  well  as  sickness. 

Ruth  stood  by  the  bed,  motionless,  almost  calm.  The 
supreme  misery  of  her  life  had  come.  She  had  no  sobs  to 
keep  back,  no  tears  to  hide — despair  had  locked  up  all  the 
tenderness  of  grief  with  an  iron  hand.  She  was  about 
to  part  with  that  sleeping  man  forever  and  ever.  He 
was  her  bridegroom :  she  must  give  him  up,  that  his 
honor,  nay,  his  very  life  might  be  saved. 

The  prayer-book  that  she  carried  in  her  hand  con 
tained,  she  believed,  all  the  proofs  of  a  marriage  that 
had  been  more  unfortunate  than  death.  No  one  must 
ever  see  them.  They  were  a  fatal  secret,  which  she 
gave  up  to  her  husband's  keeping  alone.  She  laid  the 
book  upon  the  counterpane,  close  to  his  folded  hands,  not 
daring  to  touch  them,  lest  the  misery  within  her  might 
break  out  in  cries  of  anguish.  Then  she  stood  mute  and 
still,  gazing  down  upon  him,  minute  after  minute,  while 
the  light  shone  dimly  on  the  dumb  agony  of  her  face. 
At  last,  she  bent  down,  touched  his  forehead  with  her 
lips,  and  fled. 


408 


CHAPTER    LXIX. 

THE     SOUL'S     DANGER. 

HOW,  and  by. what  way,  that  poor  young  creature 
came  out  on  the  verge  of  the  Black  Lake  she 
could  not  have  told.  When  she  came  down  those  bal 
cony  steps  she  had  left  the  world  behind  her.  Filled 
with  an  insane  idea  of  self-martyrdom,  she  went  onward 
and  onward  as  rudderless  boats  reel  through  a  storm. 

Now  she  stood  among  the  rushes — clouds  over  her 
head,  a  great  sea  of  inky  waters  weltering  away  from  her 
feet — gloom  and  blackness  everywhere.  The  old  lake 
house  flung  down  uncouth  shadows  on  one  hand,  a 
gnarled  oak  pushed  its  gaunt  limbs  far  over  the  waters 
on  the  other.  The  rushes  around  her  swayed  aud 
moaned  in  the  wind  like  living  things  in  pain. 

Was  it  this  weird  picture  that  brought  Ruth  to  a  sense 
of  her  own  condition?  Did  it  seem  to  her  as  if  she  had 
already  accomplished  her  purpose,  and  was  entering 
upon  its  punishment?  Who  can  answer  for  the  im 
pulses  of  a  soul  in  its  passions  of  distress?  No  two 
events  are  alike  in  all  the  tumultuous  actions  of  life. 
When  the  destinies  of  a  human  being  can  be  turned  by 
a  chance  thought,  a  careless  word,  even  a  sunbeam, 
more  or  less,  what  intellect  can  fathom  the  exact  thing 
that  sways  it  for  good  or  evil?  One  might  have  thought 
that  the  gloom  of  this  picture  would  intensify  the  dark 
resolve  that  had  urged  that  young  creature  on  to  death. 
Instead  of  that,  it  came  upon  her  with  a  great  shock,  and 
she  stood  there  among  the  rushes  appalled. 

Was  it  by  that  dark  way  she  could  hope  to  find  her 
father? 


THE     SOUL'S     DANGER.  409 

As  she  asked  this  question  an  awful  fear  came  upon 
her.  She  walked  slowly  backward,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  water,  breathing  heavier  and  heavier,  as  the 
rushes  swayed  to  their  place  between  her  and  them. 
Thus  she  drew  away  from  the  awful  danger  to  the 
threshold  of  the  lake  house.  There  she  sat  down. 

What  was  this  thing  she  had  promised  to  do?  A  great 
crime  which  would  shut  her  out  from  her  father's  pres 
ence  forever  and  ever,  which  would  make  it  impossible 
to  meet  her  young  husband  through  all  eternity.  She 
was  willing  to  die  for  him — the  agony  was  nothing. 
Had  she  not  suffered  more  than  that  over  and  over 
again?  But  to  give  him  up  hereancl  beyond  those  black 
waters  was  more  than  she  could  force  upon  her  soul. 

Beyond  all  this,  the  delicate  organism  of  her  being 
shrunk  from  that  which  might  come  to  her  body  after 
death.  She  saw,  as  if  it  were  a  real  presence,  herself 
sinking,  sinking  down  into  the  blackness  of  those  waters, 
her  limbs,  so  full  of  life  now,  limp  and  dead,  tangled  in 
the  coarse  grasses,  or  seized  upon  by  some  undercurrent, 
and  dragged  down  into  the  depths  of  the  earth.  Worse 
still,  coarse  men  might,  with  mistaken  kindness,  search 
the  waters,  and  lift  her  from  them  in  the  very  presence 
of  her  husband ;  who  would  see  the  face  he  had  kissed 
swollen,  the  sodden  lengths  of  her  hair  trailing  the — 
the— 

She  could  not  bear  these  thoughts ;  they  made  exist 
ence  itself  unreal.  She  pushed  the  hair  back  from  her 
face,  as  if  expecting  to  find  it  dripping;  she  lifted  both 
hands  to  her  lips  and  laughed  aloud  when  she  found 
them  dry.  She  folded  both  arms  over  her  bosom  and 
clasped  herself  in,  sobbing  out  her  relief  that  he  had 
been  saved  from  the  anguish  of  seeing  her  dead.  But 


410  HOUSTON'S    REST. 

not  the  less  was  she  doomed.  It  was  not  the  sacrifice 
that  she  shrunk  -from,  but  the  crime.  This  moral  force 
kept  the  girl  back  from  her  fate,  but  in  no  way  les 
sened  the  spirit  of  self-abnegation  that  had  brought  her 
to  the  lake.  Only  how  would  she  carry  that  into  effect 
without  crime  ?  How  could  she  take  herself  out  of  the 
way  and  be  dead  to  every  one  that  she  loved?  The  fear 
ful  necessities  of  her  case  gave  vigor  to  each  thought,  as 
it  passed  through  her  mind,  and  these  thoughts  were 
taking  vague  form,  when  the  sounds  of  footsteps  and  of 
voices,  speaking  low  and  at  intervals,  startled  her. 
Looking  through  the  darkness  she  saw  two  forms  coming 
clown  the  brief  descent  along  which  a  path  led  to  the 
lake  house.  She  had  risen,  and  was  looking  for  some 
place  of  refuge  when  a  voice  reached  her,  and  darting 
around  the  old  building  she  stole  up  the  bank  and  away 
through  the  wildness. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Richard  Storms. 

Ruth  went  back  to  the  cottage  and  searched  the  dark 
ened  rooms  for  the  desk  in  which  her  father  had  kept 
his  money.  She  placed  what  was  found  there  in  her 
pocket,  with  the  key  which  had  let  her  through  the 
park-gate  on  that  other  eventful  day  of  her  life,  and 
went  out  into  the  night  again.  She  reached  the  gate, 
turned  the  lock,  and  taking  the  highway,  walked  rapidly 
toward  the  nearest  railroad  station. 

A  train  was  in  sight.  She  had  scarcely  time  to  secure 
a  ticket  when  it  swept  up  to  the  platform.  The  guard 
half  pushed  her  into  a  second-class  car,  and  she  was 
borne  away  toward  London. 

There  in  the  solitude  which  seems  most  forlorn,  she 
fell  into  a  trance,  in  which  all  the  faculties  of  her  mind 
were  self-centred — all  the  information  she  had  ever  re- 


ON     THE     TRAIN.  411 

reived  from  her  father  or  any  other  source  presented  itself 
for  her  use. 

She  would  not  save  even  her  own  husband  by  a  crime. 
That  idea  she  put  utterly  aside,  knowing  that  to  live  was 
a  choice  of  deeper  suffering  and  more  cruel  martyrdom. 
But  she  must  be  dead  to  him — dead  to  the  whole  world. 
Her  name,  humble  as  it  was,  should  not  betray  her. 
She  would  go,  no  matter  where,  but  so  far  as  the  money 
in  her  pocket  would  allow.  Her  father  had  sometimes 
talked  of  places  beyond  the  great  ocean,  where  people  of 
small  means,  or  made  desperate  from  misfortune,  sought 
a  new  life.  All  that  she  had  read  of  such  places  came 
vividly  to  her  remembrance — how  people  went  on  ship 
board,  and  were  months  and  months  out  to  sea,  where 
they  were  happy  enough  to  die  sometimes.  Perhaps 
God  would  be  so  merciful  to  her. 

With  these  thoughts  taking  form  in  her  mind  Ruth 
found  herself  in  London. 


CHAPTER    LXX. 

ON     THE     TRAIN. 

AT  the  station,  which  Richard  Storms  had  designated, 
Judith  Hart  had  been  waiting  while  three  or  four 
trains  went  by.  She  did  not  travel  much  by  railroads, 
and  this  was  almost  like  a  new  experience  to  her.  She 
had  brought  no  luggage,  for  the  pretty  dress  of  black  and 
scarlet,  that  Storms  had  given  her,  was  the  only  portion 
of  her  wardrobe  worth  taking  away,  and  she  had  put  that 
on  with  a  womanly  desire  to  please  his  parents  with  her 


412 

appearance,  which  certainly  was  that  of  a  beautiful,  if  not 
highly-bred,  girl. 

It  was  getting  dark  when  a  train  came  up,  and  Storms, 
recognizing  her  on  the  platform,  made  the  signal  agreed 
upon,  though  his  face  clouded  over,  and  he  stifled  an 
oath  between  his  teeth  when  he  saw  how  conspicuous  the 
dress  made  her. 

"I  might  have  known  it,"  he  thought;  "from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  all  female  creatures  are  alike. 
Most  of  them  would  go  in  full  dress  to  the  gallows,  if  the 
hangman  were  fool  enough  to  permit  it." 

Judith  had  not  seen  the  first  signal,  but  stood  on  the 
verge  of  the  platform,  looking  with  evident  disappoint 
ment  up  and  down  the  train,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  the 
department  he  was  in.  The  next  instant  she  sprang  up 
the  steps  and  took  a  seat  by  his  side,  but  the  smile  left 
her  face  when  he  looked  up  vaguely  and  turned  to  the 
opposite  window,  as  if  her  presence  was  an  intrusion. 

The  train  gave  a  lurch  and  moved  on.  Then  she  ven 
tured  to  speak. 

"  You  look  sullen.  You  do  not  seem  glad.  What  is 
the  matter,  Richard?" 

Storms  turned  in  his  seat  and  scrutinized  her  dress 
from  head  to  foot. 

"You  don't  like  it?"  she  said,  in  some  confusion; 
"  but  I  had  nothing  else  fit  to  wear  at  your  mother's 
house,  and  I  thought  you  would  like  me  to  look  like  a 
lady,  as  you  are  to  make  me  one  so  soon.  Forgive  me, 
if  I  have  taken  too  much  on  myself." 

"  Forgive  you  for  making  yourself  so  handsome  ?  I 
should  be  a  brute  of  a  fellow  not  to  do  that." 

The  girl's  heart  leaped.  She  had  expected  harsh  lan 
guage,  reproach,  perhaps  bitterness,  if  the  dress  did  not 


ON     THE     TRAIN.  413 

please  him  ;  but  there  was  nothing  of  this ;  on  the  con 
trary,  there  was  hilarity  in  his  voice,  a  sort  of  careless 
abandonment,  as  if  some  pleasant  surprise  had  been  given 
him,  which  he  was  prepared  to  accept  with  acquiescence 
at  least. 

This  ready,  almost  hilarious,  approval  of  her  dress 
overwhelmed  Judith  with  delight. 

"  Oh,  how  tired  I  was  of  waiting  !  How  happy  I  am  !  " 
she  sighed,  leaning  toward  him. 

Storms  drew  her  close  to  him  with  a  fierce  grip  of  the 
arm,  in  a  passion  of  love  or  hate  which  took  away  her 
breath  ;  then  his  arm  released  its  hold,  and  he  made  a 
gesture  as  if  to  push  her  from  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  questioned,  turning  her 
eyes  wildly  upon  him. 

"Nothing,"  he  said;  "your  curls  brushed  my  face; 
that  is  all." 

"  It  seemed  almost  as  if  you  hated  me,"  said  the  girl, 
rubbing  her  arm  with  one  hand. 

"  Hated  you  !     What  should  make  me  do  that?" 

"  Perhaps  because  I  come  between  you  and  that  Jes- 
sup  girl,  with  all  her  money." 

"  What  is  her  money  to  me  ?  It  was  the  old  people 
that  wanted  it,  not  I.  Now,  all  she  has  got  would  be 
nothing  compared  to  what  I  can  give  a  wife." 

"  To  think  that  all  this  has  been  brought  about  by  a 
bit  of  paper !  That  chance  lifted  me  out  of  myself. 
Loving  you  as  I  did,  it  was  like  opening  the  gates  of 
heaven  to  me." 

"  Yes,  the  gate  of  heaven,"  repeated  the  young  man, 
in  a  voice  full  of  weird  irony.  "  It  would  be  a  pity  to 
draw  you  back." 

"  It  would  kill  me,"  answered  Judith.     "  It  seems  as 


414 

if  a  world  of  happiness  had  been  crowded  into  these 
days,  when  I  am  made  sure  of  being  your  wife !  Can  it 
be  ?  Am  I  certain  of  that  ?  Ah,  what  changes  a  day 
may  bring !  " 

"  Yes,  many  things  may  be  done  in  less  than  a  day," 
said  Storms,  in  a  light  if  not  mocking  tone.  "  It  only 
takes  a  minute  or  two  sometimes  for  a  man  to  yoke  him 
self  up  for  life.  If  one  could  only  wrench  himself  free 
as  easily,  now  !  " 

"  You  speak  as  if  I  were  not  quite  forgiven  for  keep 
ing  back  that  paper/7  she  said  with  a  look  of  swift  appre 
hension. 

"Do  I ?  Well,  you  will  soon  learn  how  I  can 
forgive." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Richard  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  But  this  is  the  station  nearest  to '  Norston's 
Rest.'  We  get  out  here." 

The  whistle  of  a  train  coming  from  the  east  was  just 
then  sounding  sharp  and  clear  in  the  distance. 

Storms  left  his  train  just  as  it  began  to  move,  and 
Judith  followed  him.  When  she  reached  the  platform 
he  turned  his  face  upon  her  in  the  starlight,  and  she  saw 
that  he  was  smiling. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  drawing  her  toward  the  track. 

"  Step  back  !  Step  back  !  Here  comes  another  train," 
cried  Judith.  "  How  awfully  human  that  red  light 
blazes  in  front  of  the  engine !  It  frightens  me !  Oh, 
be  careful." 

Storms  had  flung  one  arm  around  the  girl's  waist  and 
forced  her  to  the  very  edge  of  the  platform,  as  if  about  to 
help  her  leap  across  the  rails,  I  at  she  pressed  back  in 
terror  and  clung  to  him  till  the  train  passed  by. 

"  Why,  what  inakes  you  tremble  so?  What  did  you 
shriek  for  ?  " 


ONTHETRAIX.  415 

"  I  was  so  near  the  edge  the  hot  steam  swept  over  me." 

"  Over  me,  too.  The  engine  lurched  up  so  suddenly 
that  I  nearly  lost  my  balance ;  but  that  was  nothing  to 
get  frightened  about.  Come,  now,  the  coast  is  clear,  and 
the  old  people  will  be  expecting  us.  You  are  not  so 
tired  that  we  cannot  walk  from  the  station  ?  " 

Judith  laughed. 

"  Tired  ?  Oh,  no.  I  could  walk  twenty  miles  if  they 
only  ended  at  your  home.  You  don't  know  how  I  have 
longed  for  a  sight  of  it !  " 

"  Come,  then.  'We  will  go  across  the  park.  It  is  the 
nearest  way,  and  you  know  it  best." 

Judith  did  not  answer;  her  usual  high  spirits  were 
dampened.  She  only  folded  the  scarlet  sacque  over  her 
bosom,  and  prepared  to  follow  Storms,  breathing  heavily, 
she  could  not  have  told  why. 

lS"o  other  passengers  left  the  train  at  that  station,  and, 
without  entering  the  building,  these  two  passed  into  the 
village  in  mutual  stillness.  Once  beyond  that,  Storms 
kept  the  highway  until  they  reached  the  side-gate  in  the 
park  wall. 

"  This  is  our  nearest  way  to  the  old  house.  It  saves 
a  good  bit  of  road,"  he  said,  opening  the  gate  with  his  key. 

Judith  followed  him.  She  knew  the  path  well  and 
took  it  willingly.  This  really  was  the  nearest  way  to  the 
farm-house. 

They  were  in  the  wilderness  now,  threading  it  by  a 
path  that  made  a  sudden  descent  to  the  Black  Lake. 

<l  Richard !  Richard ! "  Judith  cried  out,  in  nervous 
haste.  "  How  fast  you  walk  !  It  quite  takes  away  my 
breath." 

Storms  slackened  the  rapid  pace  with  which  he  was 
walking  and  threw  his  arms  around  her ;  theu  kissed  her 


416 

fiercely  upon  the  lips,  so  fiercely  that  she  was  not  aware 
that  his  hand  pressed  the  paper  hidden  in  her  bosom, 
and  she  struggled  away  from  him,  for  the  kiss  brought 
shuddering  with  it,  as  if  an  asp  had  stung  her. 
"  Why,  girl,  I  thought  you  loved  me." 
« I  do— I  do  !     Oh,  how  dearly  ! " 
"  But  you  do  not  know  yet  how  I  can  love." 
They  were  descending  the  path  that  led  to  the  lake. 
Now  the  young  man  girded  her  waist  with  one  arm  and 
hurried  her  forward  almost  beyond  her  power  of  walk 
ing.     When  they  reached  the  lake  she  was  panting  for 
breath. 

"One  minute — let  me  rest  a  minute,"  she  pleaded, 
holding  back  from  the  bank,  which  they  were  walking 
dangerously  near. 

"A  minute  ?  Oh,  yes.  I  will  give  you  that,"  he  said. 
"  Indeed,  I  feel  tired  myself.  Come  in  here.  It  will 
seern  like  old  times." 


CHAPTER    LXXI. 
THE    SPIDER'S    WEB. 

STORMS  turned  at  once  and  led  the  way  to  the  dilapi 
dated  old  summer-house  where  so  many  of  his  in 
terviews  with  the  girl  had  taken  place. 

There  was  something  secretly  sinister  in  the  man's 
voice  that  might  have  warned  Judith  of  danger;  but  for 
his  previous  expressions  of  tenderness,  she  would  have 
been  on  her  guard.  As  it  was,  she  hurried  past  him,  and 
went  into  the  little  building  first;  then  flinging  off  her 


THE    SPIDER'S    WEB.  417 

scarlet  jacket,  she  tossed  her  pretty  hat,  with  its  cluster  of 
red  poppies,  upon  the  bench,  and  pushed  the  black  masses 
of  hair  away  from  her  temples,  with  the  dash  of  a  prize 
fighter  going  into  action. 

"  It  is  so  warm,"  she  said,  "  and  we  have  walked  so 
fast.  Ah  !  how  natural  the  old  place  looks  ! " 

Storms  paused  at  the  door,  and  looked  back  along  the 
path  he  had  trod,  and  around  the  lake  cautiously. 

"  You  needn't  trouble  yourself.  If  a  gamekeeper 
should  see  us  they'll  take  me  for  that  Jessup  girl,"  she 
said,  laughing. 

"  While  we  are  here,"  he  said,  with  soft  insinuation, 
"  let  me  read  that  letter  you  spoke  of — Jessup's  last. 
There  is  moonlight  enough,  and  I  haven't  seen  it  yet." 

There  was"  something  in  the  man's  face,  or  in  his 
voice,  that  warned  Judith,  who  pressed  both  hands  to 
her  bosom  in  quick  alarm. 

"  No,  no,  not  here — the  light  is  not  strong  enough.  I 
have  promised  to  give  it  up  on  our  wedding-day,  and  I 
will." 

"And  not  before?" 

"No,  I  will  not  give  it  up  before." 

Judith  Hart  drew  toward  the  dilapidated  window  that 
opened  upon  that  balcony  which  overhung  the  deepest 
portion  of  the  lake.  She  made  a  singularly  wild  figure, 
standing  there,  with  her  bloodless  face,  and  all  the  thick 
masses  of  her  hair  thrust  back,  while  the  rays  of  a  fitful 
moon  streamed  over  her. 

Storms  came  close  to  her,  speaking  low,  and  with  un 
usual  gentleness. 

"  Judith,  I  thought  that  you  loved  me." 

"  So  I  do ;  better  than  myself;  better  than  my  own 
soul!" 

26 


418  NORSTON'S    REST. 

"  Yet  you  keep  a  paper  from  me  that  might  destroy 
me." 

"It  never  shall.  You  could  not  keep  it  safer  than  I 
will." 

"  What  if  I  never  marry  you  ?  " 

"But  you  will." 

"  Never  while  you  hold  that  paper." 

"Ah,  I  see  it  was  for  that  you  brought  me  here.  I 
have  been  a  fool !  " 

"  Exactly." 

The  man  was  looking  out  on  the  lake  as  he  spoke, 
and  did  not  see  the  flash  of  those  black  eyes,  or  the  rage 
that  curved  those  lips  till  the  teeth  gleamed  menacingly 
through. 

"A  miserable  fool,"  he  went  on,  "  or  you  would  have 
known  that  a  man  who  had  the  chance  of  a  girl  like 
Ruth  Jessup  would  never  think  of  you." 

"Ah,  it  is  Ruth  Jessup,  then?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  Ruth  Jessup — the  only  girl  I  ever  cared  a 
straw  for.  The  letter  you  gave  me  gets  her  with  the 
rest.  That  is  the  grandest  part  of  my  bargain.  She 
cannot  help  herself." 

"  But  I  can  help  her  and  punish  you.  The  letter  you 
want,  but  shall  never  have — William  Jessup's  last  letter, 
written  when  his  head  was  clear  and  his  memory  good, 
taking  back  the  lines  written  in  his  fever — a  letter 
charging  you  with  the  murder  I  saw  done  with  my  own 
eyes — this  letter,  and  all  that  I  know,  shall  be  in  Sir 
Noel's  hands  before  he  goes  to  bed  to-night." 

Judith  had  drawn  the  pocket-book  that  held  this  let 
ter  from  her  bosom,  unseen  by  her  assailant,  and  made  a 
movement  as  if  to  depart;  but  Storms  leaped  upon  her 
like  a  wild  beast,  and  when  she  struggled  fiercely  with 
him,  hurled  her  against  the  window. 


THE    SPIDER'S    WEB.  419 

A  loud  crash,  a  storm  of  shattered  glass  and  splintered 
wood,  and,  through  the  great  ragged  opening,  Judith 
Hart  reeled  into  the  balcony,  hurling  the  pocket-book  over 
her  murderer's  shoulder.  He  did  not  see  the  act,  of  which 
the  girl  herself  was  almost  unconscious.  His  arm  was 
coiled  around  her,  and  though  holding  backward  with  all 
her  might,  she  was  forced  to  the  edge  of  the  rickety 
structure,  that  began  to  reel  under  them.  Here  the  man 
held  her  a  moment,  looking  down  into  her  white  face 
with  his  keen,  cruel  eyes. 

"  This  is  how  I  forgive — this  is  how  I  love  you — this 
is  the  way  you  will  keep  me  from  a  fortune  ! " 

The  girl  was  mute  with  terror.  She  could  not  even 
cry  out,  but  clung  to  him  in  a  dumb  agony  of  entreaty, 

"You  meant  to  force  me  into  marrying  you,  poor 
fool !  Give  me  that  letter ! " 

The  wretched  girl  had  flung  the  letter  from  her  and 
she  could  not  tell  where.  It  might  be  in  the  water  or 
among  the  rushes. 

"  I  have  not  got  it — I  have  not ;  but  I  loved  you  ! 
Oh,  I  did  love  you!" 

"  Lying  with  your  last  breath.  The  accursed  thing  is 
in  your  bosom." 

"No!  no!  no!" 

She  held  on  to  him  now,  though  he  had  lifted  her 
from  her  feet,  and  covering  his  cruel  face  with  desperate 
kisses,  clung  to  him  with  a  grasp  that  even  his  wiry 
strength  could  not  tear  away. 

"  You  did  love  me.  I  know  that.  It  was  her  money. 
You  did  love  me — you  do.  It  is  only  to  frighten  me. 
Let  me  down,  let  me  down.  Do  you  know  I  am  on  the 
very  edge  ?  It  is  dangerous  fun — cruel  fun  ! " 

"Fun!"  sneered  the  fiend,  wrenching  her  arms  away 


420  NORSTON'S   REST. 

and  drawing  back  to  give  more  deadly  force  to  the  action. 
"Fun,  is  it?" 

He  was  pushing  backward,  his  white  face  was  close  to 
hers,  his  hoarse  curse  hissed  in  her  ear.  With  a  terrible 
effort  to  save  herself,  she  wound  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  dragging  him  down  to  the  rickety  railing,  over 
which  he  was  straining  all  his  powers  to  hurl  her. 

"  Oh,  Dick* !  Dick  !     Don't  kill  me !     Do—" 

Another  crash.  The  railing  gave  way.  He  strove 
madly  to  free  his  neck  from  her  clinging  arms,  but  they 
clasped  him  like  iron.  The  struggle  was  terrible.  Under 
it  the  whole  balcony  began  to  quiver  and  break.  Their 
two  faces  were  close  together,  their  eyes  burning  with 
hate  and  fear,  met.  One  desperate  effort  the  man  put 
forth  to  free  himself;  but  the  grip  on  his  neck  grew 
closer,  and  choked  him.  With  the  might  of  despair  he 
dragged  her  half-way  up  from  the  reeling  timbers ;  but 
her  weight  baffled  his  strength,  and  brought  him  down 
with  an  awful  thud.  Down,  down,  they  plunged, 
through  the  rotten  timbers,  into  the  black  depths  of  the 
lake. 

After  this  the  stillness  was  appalling.  Over  the  place 
where  those  two  had  gone  down,  linked  together  in  that 
death-clasp,  bits  of  broken  wood  floated,  drearily,  like 
reptiles  driven  from  their  holes ;  and  from  their  midst  a 
human  head  appeared,  lifted  itself  from  the  water,  and 
went  down  again.  Twice  after  this  the  head  rose,  each 
time  nearer  the  shore.  Then  two  gleaming  hands  seized 
upon  the  strong  rushes,  forsook  them  for  a  rooted  vine, 
and  Judith  Hart  lifted  herself  to  the  bank  ;  where  she 
fell  helpless,  with  the  ends  of  her  long  hair  stream 
ing  into  the  water,  and  mingling  with  the  grasses  that 
swayed  to  and  fro  on  their  dark  disturbance. 


THE    SPIDER'S    WEB.  421 

In  this  position  the  girl  lay  exhausted  for  some  minutes, 
then  she  struggled  to  her  feet,  swept  the  dank  hair  back 
from  her  face,  and,  stooping  forward,  searched  the  waters 
with  her  clouded  eyes. 

She  saw  nothing.  If  any  object,  living  or  dead,  was 
on  that  inky  surface  the  darkness  concealed  it.  Then 
her  hands  were  flung  out  and  her  voice  struggled  into 
cries : 

"  Kichard  !  Richard  !  Here  !  here !  The  water  is 
shallow  here.  Oh,  my  God !  Light  a  little  light  that  I 
may  see  where  he  is ! " 

There  was  no  answer — only  a  faint  lapse  of  water 
against  the  bank. 

"  Richard  !     Richard  ! " 

Again  and  again  that  sharp,  wild  voice  rang  out  on 
the  night,  only  answered  by  more  awful  stillness  and  the 
silence  of  hopeless  listening. 

Thus,  for  one  dark  hour,  that  poor  creature,  shivering, 
pallid,  and  wet,  paced  up  and  down  the  shore,  dragging 
her  sodden  garments  through  the  dense  herbage,  and 
calling  out  whenever  she  paused  in  her  moaning, 

"  Richard  !     Richard  !     Richard  ! " 

At  length  this  cry  sounded  for  the  last  time,  long 
and  low,  like  the  plaint  of  a  wounded  night-bird ;  but 
there  was  no  reply,  and  if  anything,  living  or  dead,  arose 
to  the  surface  of  those  inky  waters  after  that,  God  alone 
saw  it. 

Judith  Hart  had  wandered  there,  it  might  have  been  a 
minute,  or  an  eternity,  for  anything  she  knew  of  time ; 
but  the  black  silence  drove  her  away  at  last.  She  went 
into  the  denser  portion  of  the  wilderness,  and  came  out 
by  the  farm-house  in  which  the  parents  of  Richard 
Storms  lay  sleeping  peacefully,  for  their  son  had  left 


422  NO  us  TON'S    REST. 

them  for  the  fair  held  in  a  neighboring  town  that  morn 
ing,  and  they  did  not  expect  him  home  before  another 
day. 

Judith  turned  from  her  route,  for  she  took  no  path, 
and  went  up  to  the  door  of  this  house,  beating  against  it 
with  her  hands.  After  a  while  a  bolt  was  drawn,  and  an 
old  woman,  wearing  a  shawl  over  her  night  dress,  looked 
out,  but  half  closed  the  door  again  when  she  saw  a  strange 
female,  with  a  face  like  death,  and  long  wet  hair  stream 
ing  down  her  back,  staring  at  her.  Twice  this  figure 
attempted  to  speak,  but  that  which  she  tried  to  say 
choked  her  until  the  words  broke  out  in  spasms  : 

"  You  are  his  mother.  He  tried  to  save  me.  I  was 
in  the  Black  Lake,  sinking;  he  plunged  after  me,  but 
went  down,  down.  I  tried  to  drag  him  up.  Three 
times,  three  times  I  went  headforemost  into  the  darkness. 
All  night  long  I  have  been  calling  for  him,  but  he  would 
not  answer.  Do  not  think  he  was  angry  with  me.  No 
one  must  think  that.  It  was  to  save  me.  Only  to  save 
me,  he  was  trying." 

The  old  woman  held  a  candle  in  her  hand.  It  began 
to  shake  as  she  said  : 

"  Who  are  you  speaking  of?     "Who  are  you  ?" 

"Of  him — he  loved  me — I  was  to  be  his  wife,  and  he 
was  bringing  me  here,  only  we  stopped  at  the  lake  and 
I  fell  in.  After  that,  I  could  not  find  him ;  dive  down 
as  I  would,  he  went  deeper  still.  I  called  out  till  my 
breath  failed  ;  but  he  would  not  answer.  My  husband — 
you  know." 

The  old  woman  shaded  her  light  with  one  hand  while 
she  scrutinized  that  wild  face. 

"A  face  I  have  never  seen,"  she  thought;  "some  poor 
crazed  thing." 


423 

"  Come  in  from  the  cold.  You  are  shivering,"  she 
said,  in  great  kindliness,  "your  teeth  knock  together." 

"No,  I'm  not  cold,  but  he  is.  Go  seek  for  him.  He 
will  not  answer  me;  but  you  are  his  mother.  Pie  is  not 
angry  with  you.  I  will  get  out  of  the  way.  He  will 
not  show  himself  while  I  am  there;  but  when  you  call, 
it  will  be  different.  What  are  you  standing  there  for? 
Call  up  your  men ;  get  lanterns.  He  is  hiding  away 
from  me ;  but  you  are  his  mother." 

Before  old  Mrs.  Storms  could  answer  these  words, 
crowded  each  upon  the  other,  the  girl  stepped  from  the 
door-stone  and  was  gone. 

"  Poor  thing,  poor  thing,  her  face  is  strange,  and  she 
talks  of  a  husband  as  if  I  were  his  mother.  I  was 
frightened  in  spite  of  that,  as  if  it  were  Richard  she  spoke 
of.  So  like  my  own  dear  lad,  to  risk  his  life  for  another. 
It  was  that  which  set  me  trembling,  nothing  else;  for  I 
knew  well  enough  that  he  was  safe  at  the  fair.7' 

"What  is  it?"  questioned  the  farmer,  when  his  wife 
came  back  to  her  bed-room. 

"  Only  a  woman  that  has  lost  her  mind,  I  think,"  an 
swered  the  wife,  blowing  out  her  candle.  "  I  would  fain 
have  had  her  come  in,  but  she  is  gone." 

"  Then  what  makes  ye  tremble  and  shake  so,  woman  ? 
Have  ye  found  another  corpse-light  in  the  candle?" 
The  old  man  said  this  with  a  low,  chuckling  laugh  ;  for 
he  delighted  in  ridiculing  his  wife's  superstitions. 

"  No ;  I  had  not  thought  of  that,"  answered  the  dame. 
But  all  that  night,  while  Judith  Hart  was  travelling  the 
road  to  her  father's  house,  unconscious  of  fatigue  and 
fleeing,  as  it  were,  from  herself,  this  loving  mother  lay 
restlessly  awake  by  the  side  of  her  husband  ;  for  he,  in 
his  good-natured  jeering,  had  frightened  sleep  from  her. 


424 

Twenty  miles  away,  another  weary  soul  had  been  kept 
awake  with  loving  anxiety.  The  old  man  whom  Judith 
had  deserted  a  second  time  lay  in  that  humble  home 
bemoaning  his  loneliness,  wondering  what  had  drawn 
the  only  creature  left  to  him  on  earth  from  the  shelter 
of  his  roof,  where  she  had  for  some  days  seemed  so  cheer 
fully  content.  Would  she  ever  return  ? 

The  old  man  was  asking  himself  this  question  almost 
in  hopelessness,  when  the  first  gray  of  morning  broke 
into  his  room.  Leaving  his  bed,  weary  as  when  he 
sought  it,  the  old  man  dressed  himself  and  went  to  the 
front  door.  There,  sitting  in  the  porch,  with  her  limbs 
huddled  together,  and  her  hair  all  afloat,  was  the  young 
creature  whose  absence  he  had  bewailed — his  daughter 
Judith. 

When  she  saw  her  father,  the  poor  girl  stood  up  un 
steadily.  She  was  shivering  all  over  ;  but  on  her  cheeks 
was  a  flame  of  coming  fever,  and  her  hot  hands  shook  as 
she  held  them  toward  him. 

"  Father,  I  have  come  back  to  you.  Take  me  home. 
I  have  come  back  to  you.  Take  me  home." 

The  old  man  readied  forth  his  arms,  drew  her  within 
them,  and  with  her  head  falling  helplessly  on  his  shoul 
der,  led  her  into  the  house. 


THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE.        425 

CHAPTER    LXXII. 

THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE. 

TWO  persons,  both  anxious  and  unhappy,  sat  in  the 
breakfast-room  at  "  Norston's  Rest,"  Sir  Noel  and 
Lady  Rose.  Sir  Noel  was  thinking  with  secret  uneasiness 
of  the  charge,  that  had  been  made  with  such  coarse  au 
dacity,  against  his  son,  by  Richard  Storms;  he  was  think 
ing  also,  with  some  self-upbraiding,  of  the  young  orphan 
who  had  submitted  herself  so  gently  to  the  demands  of 
his  pride.  With  all  his  aristocratic  habits  of  thought 
and  feeling,  Sir  Noel  was  essentially  a  good  man — rich 
in  kindliness,  and  incapable  of  doing  a  cruel  thing, 
knowing  it  as  such,  and  spite  of  his  worldly  reasoning, 
his  heart  was  not  without  self-reproach  when  he  thought 
of  Jessup's  daughter. 

Lady  Rose  had  even  deeper  causes  of  anxiety.  She 
had  performed  her  promise  to  Richard  Storms;  the 
papers,  which  would  convey  to  him  a  really  fine  estate, 
were  prepared,  and  she  was  ready  to  deliver  them  on 
Ruth's  wedding  day,  when  all  this  shameful  attempt  to 
cast  disgrace  on  an  honorable  name  would  have  been 
defeated  by  the  sacrifice  of  two  girls,  herself  giving  the 
smaller  part. 

This  thought  troubled  the  young  lady.  Like  Sir 
Noel,  she  felt  heart-sore  when  thinking  of  the  fate  to 
which  she  had  urged  this  poor  girl,  who  had  been  her 
playmate  and  friend. 

With  all  these  anxieties,  the  guardian  and  ward  met 
with  their  usual  quiet  courteousness,  for  habits  of  deco 
rous  self-control  checked  all  expression  of  deep  feeling. 


426  NOKSTON'S   n E s T . 

Still,  Sir  Noel  might  have  noticed  that  the  cheeks  of 
his  ward  were  pale,  and  her  blue  eyes  darkened  with 
shadows,  but  for  his  own  preoccupation,  for  she  had 
neither  his  self-control  nor  habit  of  suppression.  Besides, 
he  had  observed  these  signs  of  unrest  frequently  of  late, 
and  it  was  in  some  degree  because  of  this  that  he  had 
dealt  so  positively  with  lluth  Jessup. 

A  third  party  looking  in  upon  that  pleasant  scene 
would  never  have  dreamed  that  disturbing  thoughts 
could  enter  there.  It  was  a  beautiful  room,  and  a  beau 
tiful  morning.  The  fragrance  of  many  flowers  came 
floating  through  the  windows,  where  it  met  flowers 
again  of  still  more  exquisite  odors.  The  breakfast  ser 
vice  of  gold  and  silver,  the  Sevres  china  and  crystal 
were  delicate,  almost  as  the  flowers. 

They  had  not  expected  young  Hurst  to  breakfast  with 
them.  Since  his  illness  he  had  taken  this  meal  in  his 
own  room  ;  but  now  he  came  in  hurriedly,  so  hurriedly 
that  Sir  Noel  absolutely  started  with  dismay  when  he 
saw  the  white  agony  of  his  face.  The  young  man  went 
up  to  the  table  and  laid  a  book  upon  it. 

"Sir  Noel— father/' he  said,  in  a  voice  that  thrilled 
both  listeners  with  compassion,— "  in  that  book  is  my 
marriage  certificate.  This  letter  is  from  my  wife.  I 
have  deceived  you,  and  she  has  dealt  out  my  punish 
ment,  for  she  has  chosen  to  abandon  me,  and  die  rather 
than  brave  your  displeasure." 

Sir  Noel  was  always  pale,  but  his  delicate  features 
turned  to  marble  now.  Still  the  shock  he  endured  gave 
no  other  expression  of  its  intensity.  He  reached  forth 
his  hand,  and  pushed  the  book  aside. 

"  It  is  Jessup's  daughter  you  are  speaking  of/'  he  said, 
pausing  to  ask  no  questions. 


THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE.        427 

"  Yes,  father,  yes ;  Jessup's  daughter.  She  was  my 
wife,  and  for  that  reason  has  destroyed  herself." 

"  Let  me  read  the  letter.  It  may  not  be  so  bad  as 
you  apprehend.'7 

Walton  gave  him  the  letter;  then  falling  on  a  seat  by 
the  table,  flung  out  his  arms  and  buried  his  face  upon 
them. 

"  It  may  be  as  you  fear,"  said  Sir  Noel,  after  reading 
poor  Ruth's  letter,  "but  I  think  there  is  room  for  a 
doubt." 

"A  doubt !    Oh,  father,  can  you  see  that?" 

Lady  Rose  had  arisen,  and  stood  near  the  window, 
white  as  the  laee  that  draped  it,  cold  as  the  marble  con 
sole  on  which  she  leaned.  She  came  forward  now,  speak 
ing  almost  in  a  whisper : 

"  If  this  thing  is  true — if  Ruth  Jessup  has  killed  her 
self — it  is  I  who  am  guilty  of  her  death.  It  was  I,  mis 
erable  wretch  that  I  am,  who  urged  her  to  it,  not  know 
ingly,  but  out  of  my  ignorant  zeal.  Poor  girl !  Oh, 
Walton  !  Walton  !  I  did  not  know  that  she  was  your 
wjfe — I  urged  her  to  marry — I  am  the  person  most  to 
blame  in  this." 

"  No !  no  !  "  said  Walton,  starting  up.  "By  one  wild, 
rash  step,  I  brought  this  great  trouble  on  us  all.  Father, 
father,  can  you  ever  forgive  me?  Is  not  this  awful  pun 
ishment  enough?" 

Sir  Noel  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  his  face  grew 
rigid.  Lady  Rose  saw  this,  and  went  up  to  him,  her 
eyes  full  of  eloquent  pleading,  her  very  attitude  one  of 
entreaty. 

No  word  was  spoken  ;  but  the  old  baronet  understood 
all  the  generous  heroism  of  that  look.  Bending  his 
head,  as  if  to  the  behest  of  a  queen,  he  reached  out  his 


428  NORS TON'S    REST. 

hand  to  Walton,  gravely,  sadly,  as  a  man  forgives  with 
his  heart,  while  the  pride  of  his  nature  is  still  resistant. 

"  We  must  search  the  cottage.  Ruth  was  young, 
timid.  She  never  can  have  carried  out  this  design. 
There  must  be  no  noise,  no  outcry  among  the  servants. 
Living  or  dead,  my  son's  wife  must  not  be  a  subject  for 
public  clamor.  If  she  is  to  be  found,  it  is  for  us  to  dis 
cover  her." 

Walton,  in  his  weakness  and  distress,  supported  him 
self  by  the  table,  which  shook  under  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  how  weak  I  am !  How  weak  I  have  been ! "  he 
said,  wiping  the  moisture  from  his  pale  forehead. 

Sir  Noel  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  and  gave  it  to  him. 

"Take  this — sit  down — sit  down  and  rest." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  must  seek  for  her !  " 

"You  cannot.  Trust  to  your  father,  Walton.  If 
your  wife  is  living,  I  will  find  her." 

Walton  seized  his  father's  hand,  and  wrung  it  with  all 
his  weakened  force. 

"  Oh,  father !  I  have  not  deserved  this  !  I  cannot — I 
can  hardly  stand  ;  but  we  will  go — we  will  go." 

He  did,  indeed,  reel  across  the  room,  searching  blindly 
for  his  hat. 

Sir  Noel  led  him  into  the  little  sitting-room,  and  placed 
him  with  gentle  force  on  a  couch. 

"  Rest  there,  my  son,  till  I  come  back.  Lady  Rose 
will  stay  with  you." 

"Oh,  father!  father!" 

The  young  man  turned  his  face  upon  the  cushions,  and 
shook  the  couch  with  his  sobs.  The  baronet's  kindness 
seemed  to  have  broken  up  his  heart.  The  best  com 
forter  for  such  grief  was  a  woman.  Sir  Noel  looked 
around  for  his  ward,  but  she  had  gone. 


SEARCHING     THE     LAKE     HOUSE.         429 

CHAPTER    LXXIII. 

SEARCHING  THE  LAKE  HOUSE. 

LADY  ROSE  had,  indeed,  left  the  house.  She  knew 
best  where  to  search  for  the  missing  girl.  In  the 
hall  she  met  Mrs.  Hippie.  Snatching  a  garden-hat,  she 
held  it  toward  the  old  governess,  who  stood  gazing  upon 
her  in  astonishment. 

"  Take  this,  and  come  with  me.    I  want  help — come! " 

Never  had  the  lady  spoken  so  imperiously ;  never 
had  Mrs.  Hippie  seen  her  so  terribly  agitated.  Before 
she  had  tied  on  the  hat,  Lady  Rose  was  half-way  down 
the  terrace-steps. 

"  To  the  gardener's  cottage,"  she  directed,  turning  her 
head  impatiently.  "  We  must  go  there  first." 

Startled,  and  utterly  bewildered,  the  old  woman  fol 
lowed.  She  was  a  good  walker,  but  failed  to  overtake 
Lady  Rose  until  she  stood  before  the  cottage.  The  door 
was  closed,  the  shutters  tightly  fastened,  as  she  had  never 
seen  them  before. 

"  Ruth  may  be  lying  dead  there."  Hesitating  under 
the  horror  of  this  thought,  she  held  on  to  the  gate  unable 
to  go  in  or  move  away. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Hippie. 

"Afraid  ?     No.     Why  should  I  be  ?  " 

"Ah,  you  have  not  been  told,  and  I  have  no  time ; 
come." 

Lady  Rose  swung  the  gate  inward,  went  into  the  porch, 
and  tried  the  door.  It  was  not  fastened.  She  pushed 
it  open  and  entered  the  little  parlor.  The  light  was  dim, 
but  her  quick  glance  searched  the  room — the  table 


430 

where  Ruth  worked,  the  chintz  couch,  the  one  great 
easy-chair. 

"Not  here!  not  here!"  she  cried.  "Wait  till  I 
come." 

She  ran  up-stairs  into  each  chamber,  calling  out : 

"  Euth  !  Ruth  !  Do  not  hide,  Ruth.  It  is  I,  Lady 
Rose." 

No  answer ;  nothing  but  twilight  darkness  and  the 
shadowy  furniture.  Down  the  stairs  she  went,  through 
the  kitchen,  and  out  into  the  open  air. 

Mrs.  Hippie  followed  her. 

"Lady  Rose!  Lady  Rose!  what  is  this?  you  terrify 
rnc  !  "  pleaded  the  old  woman  at  last. 

"  How  can  I  help  it,  being  fearfully  terrified  myself? 
Oh,  Hippie,  Walton  was  privately  married  to  Ruth 
Jessup,  and  she  is  missing  !  " 

"  Married — missing  ! " 

"  She  may  be  dead  ;  and  oh,  Hippie,  my  dear  old  friend, 
I  drove  her  to  it." 

"  You  !  no,  no,  my  child  ;  but  come — where  shall  we 
search?" 

Lady  Rose  led  the  way  down  to  the  Black  Lake. 
The  door  of  the  old  summer  house  was  open.  Through 
it  she  saw  gleams  of  scarlet,  outside  the  broken  timbers. 

"  She  is  here — we  are  in  time  !  "  she  cried  out,  rushin^ 

'  O 

forward,  but  recoiled  from  the  threshold  with  a  faint 
moan.  It  was  only  a  scarlet  garment,  with  the  morning 
sunshine  pouring  over  it. 

"  It  is  hers.  She  has  gone.  Oh,  God,  forgive  me, 
she  has  gone!"  cried  the  poor  lady,  dragging  her  reluc 
tant  limbs  through  the  opening.  "  Her  own  jacket  and 
the  pretty  hat.  God  help  me !  I  have  killed  her.  I, 
who  meant  only  to  redeem  him.  Oh,  Hippie,  have 


SEARCHING     THE      LAKE      HOUSE.        431 

I  the  curse  of  a  great  crime — the  mark  of  Cain  on 
me?" 

"Plush/7  said  the,  old  lady,  with  gentle  authority, 
placing  the  unhappy  girl  on  the  bench.  "  I  have  more 
calmness;  let  me  search.  This  sacque — " 

"  It  is  hers  !  it  is  hers  !  I  have  seen  her  wear  it,  oh, 
so  often/7  cried  Lady  Hose,  covering  her  eyes,  which  the 
flame  tints  of  the  garment  seemed  to  burn. 

"  No,"  answered  the  governess,  examining  the  garment 
in  her  hand  with  keen  criticism;  "this  is  not  Ruth  Jes- 
sup's  sacque.  The  one  she  wore  had  a  delicate  vine  of 
embroidery  about  the  edge ;  this  is  braided." 

Lady  Rose  dropped  her  hands. 

"  It  is  true  ;  it  is  true  ;  and  the  hat — hers  was  turned 
up  at  the  side  with  red  roses ;  these  are  poppies.  You 
are  right,  Hippie.  She  may  be  living  yet." 

"\Vhile  they  were  examining  the  garment  Sir  Noel  came 
into  the  lake  house.  He  looked  around,  taking  in  the 
scene  at  a  glance — the  scarlet  jacket,  the  broken  window, 
and  the  jagged  timbers  left  of  the  balcony,  and  upon  the 
floor  an  old  pocket-book  or  portemonnaie.  Lady  Rose 
watched  him  as  he  opened  it.  Surely  there  was  some 
thing  there  which  might  tell  them  of  the  girl's  fate. 
Yes,  a  letter,  folded  twice,  and  thus  made  small  enough 
to  thrust  into  a  pocket  of  the  book ;  a  letter,  directed 
to  Walton  Hurst,  which  had  been  opened. 

Lady  Rose  knew  the  writing,  came  close  to  Sir  Noel, 
and  read  the  letter  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  thank  God  !  Thank  God,  I  have  not  murdered 
them  both/'  she  cried,  snatching  the  letter  between  her 
shaking  hands,  and  kissing  it  wildly.  "If  her  life  has 
been  sacrificed,  his  honor  is  saved." 

Sir  Noel  took  the  letter  from  her  and  read  it  a  second 
time.  It  ran  thus: 


432  NO  us  TON'S    REST. 

"MY  YOUNG  MASTER: — I  was  wrong  to  write  you 
that  letter;  but  the  fever  was  on  me,  and  it  eame  out  of 
my  love  and  out  of  my  dreams — wild  dreams  such  as 
could  not  have  reached  me  in  my  senses. 

"  I  am  getting  well  now,  and  have  thought  over  all 
that  happened  that  night  till  everything  is  clear  in  my 
mind.  This  is  the  way  I  remember  it;  but  there  must 
no  harm  to  any  one  come  from  what  I  write.  I  would 
never  say  a  word  only  to  take  back  the  foolish  letter  I 
sent  to  you.  Richard  Storms  met  me  as  I  was  crossing 
the  park  on  my  way  back  from  London  that  night. 
He  was  in  a  rage,  and  said  something  about  you  and  my 
daughter  Ruth  that  angered  me  in  turn.  In  my  wrath  I 
knocked  him  down,  and  went  home,  sorry  that  I  had 
done  it,  for  his  father  was  an  old  friend,  and  we  had 
thoughts  of  being  closer  related  through  the  young 
people. 

"  When  I  got  home  Ruth  seemed  shy,  and  complained 
that  the  lad  had  forced  his  company  on  her,  for  which 
you  had  chastised  him,  as  he  richly  deserved.  I  got 
angry  again,  and  went  out  in  haste,  meaning  to  call  him 
to  a  sharper  account  for  the  slander  he  had  hinted  against 
her  and  you.  It  may  be  that  in  my  heart  I  was  blaming 
you.  It  seems  as  if  I  never  could  have  believed  ill  of 
you  as  I  feel  now ;  but  the  young  man's  words  rang  in 
my  ears  when  I  went  out,  and  I  might  have  been  rough 
even  with  you  if  we  had  met  first. 

"  Well,  I  hurried  on  by  the  great  cedars,  thinking  to 
meet  Richard  on  his  way  home.  When  I  got  into  the 
deep  shadows  a  man  came  suddenly  under  the  branches 
between  me  and  the  light.  I  saw  the  face ;  it  was  only 
a  second  that  the  moonlight  struck  it,  but  I  saw  the  face. 
It  was  Richard  Storms.  I  was  turning  to  meet  him 


SEARCHING     THE     LAKE     HOUSE          433 

when  he  lifted  a  gun  and  fired.  I  felt  a  flash"  of  fire  go 
through  me.  I  leaped  toward  him,  but  he  pushed  me 
aside,  and  reeling  till  my  face  turned  the  other  way,  I 
fell.  Then  it  was  that  I  saw  you  in  the  edges  of  the 
moonlight.  The  other  face  came  and  went  like  lightning. 
It  was  yours  that  rested  in  my  mind  and  went  with  me 
through  the  fever,  but  it  was  Storms  that  shot  the  gun ; 
it  was  his  face  I  saw,  his  voice  I  heard  mingling  curses 
with  blows  as  I  lay  bleeding  on  the  ground.  The  man 
who  shot  me  and  beat  you  down  with  the  butt  of  his 
gun  was  Richard  Storms,  the  son  of  my  old  friend.  I  am 
sure  of  this  now,  having  questioned  Ruth  about  the  gun. 
He  brought  it  to  the  house  that  night,  and  she  saw  it 
behind  the  door  after  you  thrust  him  from  the  house  and 
left  it  yourself,  but  when  I  went  out  no  such  thing  was 
there.  I  had  no  weapon  in  my  hand  that  night. 

"  Storms  must  have  come  back  and  got  the  gun  when 
Ruth  saw  him  peering  through  the  window.  Do  you 
know,  I  think  it  was  not  me  he  meant  to  shoot.  More 
likely  he  was  waiting  for  you,  and  only  found  out  his 
mistake  when  I  was  down  and  you  came  in  sight ;  for  I 
can  remember  a  great  oath  breaking  over  me,  after  I  fell 
— and  you  were  near  us  then. 

"  I  am  not  strong,  and  this  writing  tires  me ;  but  some 
how  I  feel  that  it  must  be  done,  or  mischief  may  come 
from  what  I  wrote  in  my  fever ;  which  I  pray  you 
to  forgive. 

"I  know  you  will  burn  this  letter  with  the  other  when 
you  have  got  it  by  heart.  It  must  not  be  brought  against 
the  young  man,  for  he  was  used  roughly  that  night ;  and 
both  blows  and  kicks  are  apt  to  turn  some  brave  men 
into  wild  beasts. 

"  He  was  to  have  wedded  my  daughter  Ruth,  but  she 
27 


434  NO  us  TON'S    REST. 

could  not  bear  to  hear  of  it ;  and  when  my  fever  left  all 
these  things  clear,  I  broke  the  old  pledge.  He  loved  my 
Ruth,  and  this  was  a  blow  to  him.  I  wish  no  greater 
harm  than  this  to  the  young  man ;  and  beg  you  to  keep 
all  that  is  against  him  a  secret,  for  his  father's  sake. 
11  Always  your  faithful  servant, 

"WILLIAM  JESS  UP." 

A  great  change  came  over  Sir  Noel's  countenance  as  he 
read  this  letter.  He  did  not  thoroughly  understand  it ; 
but  Lady  Hose  was  better  informed.  How  Storms  came 
in  possession  of  the  first  letter,  she  could  not  tell ;  but 
that  he  had  used  it  for  his  own  interest,  and  the  ruin  of 
an  innocent  man,  she  saw  clear  enough.  In  a  few  brief 
sentences  she  explained  this  to  Sir  Noel.  Then  he  under 
stood  the  persecution  that  had  driven  Ruth  to  the  fatal 
step  she  had  taken. 

There  was  nothirg  more  to  learn  at  the  lake  house, 
and  with  heavy  hearts  those  three  persons  left  it,  turn 
ing  their  steps  toward  "  The  Rest."  Mrs.  Hippie,  made 
thoughtful  by  experience,  folded  the  garments  they  had 
found  there,  and  carried  them  away  under  her  shawl. 

As  Sir  Noel  was  about  to  mount  the  terrace  steps,  a  lad 
in  uniform  came  up  the  chestnut  avenue,  and  gave  him  a 
telegram,  which  he  tore  open  with  more  agitation  than 
such  papers  had  ever  produced  in  him  before. 

"A  young  relative  of  ours,  the  daughter  of  William 
Jessup,  a  gardener  at  '  Norston's  Rest,'  is  with  us,  in  a 
state  of  health  that  requires  immediate  attention.  I  found 
her,  by  accident,  in  the  office  of  the  Australian  line  of 
packets.  She  had  taken  a  passage,  but  not  in  her  own 
name,  and  I  could  only  persuade  her  to  go  home  with 
me  by  a  promise  that  I  must  break,  or  permit  her 


SEARCHING     THE     LAKE     HOUSE.        435 

to  depart  as  she  evidently  wishes,  unknown  to  her 
friends.  I  send  this  in  urgent  haste,  and  confiding  in 
your  discretion." 

The  signature  was  that  of  a  young  artist,  whose  name 
was  attached  to  a  picture  of  some  promise  that  Sir  Noel 
had  bought  because  he  remembered  that  the  person  was  a 
connection  of  Jessup's. 

"With  his  pencil  Sir  Noel  wrote  a  brief  reply,  which  the 
boy  carried  away  with  him. 

Two  events  of  unusual  importance  happened  at 
"  Norston's  Rest,"  the  next  day.  It  was  given  out  in 
the  village  that  Sir  Noel  and  his  family  had  gone  up  to 
the  London  house  that  the  young  man  might  be  nearer 
his  physicians,  and  that  Lady  Rose  had  taken  Ruth  Jes- 
sup  with  her,  thinking  that  change  of  scene  might  soften 
the  melancholy  into  which  she  had  fallen.  This  sudden 
movement  hardly  found  general  discussion,  when  some 
thing  more  terrible  filled  the  public  mind.  The  body 
of  Richard  Storms  had  been  found  floating  in  the  Black 
Lake,  three  days  after  Sir  Noel's  departure.  It  had  evi 
dently  risen  from  the  depths,  and  become  entangled  in 
the  broken  timbers  still  swaying  from  the  balcony. 
When  he  failed  to  return  from  the  fair,  as  he  had 
promised,  his  mother,  remembering  the  weird  visitor 
who  had  called  her  up  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  betook 
herself  to  the  lake,  and  was  at  last  joined  by  the  old 
farmer,  whose  distress  was  even  greater  than  her  own,  for 
he  had  a  deeper  knowledge  of  the  young  man's  character, 
and  this  gave  ground  for  fears  of  which  she,  kind  woman, 
was  made  ignorant  by  her  deep  motherly  love. 

Thus  fear-haunted,  these  two  old  people  wandered 
about  the  lake  day  after  day,  until,  one  morning,  they 
found  a  group  of  men  upon  the  bank,  talking  solemnly 


436  NORSTON'S    REST. 

together,  and  looking  down  upon  the  broken  timbers 
still  weltering  in  the  water,  as  if  some  painful  interest 
had  all  at  once  been  attached  to  them. 

When  these  people  saw  the  old  man  and  woman 
coming  toward  them,  they  shrunk  back  and  left  a  pas 
sage  by  which  they  could  pass  into  the  old  building,  but 
no  one  spoke  a  word. 

No  noise,  no  outcry  came  from  those  two  people  when 
they  saw  their  only  sou  lying  upon  the  bench  where  the 
neighbors  had  laid  him  down ;  but  when  one  of  them 
went  in,  troubled  by  the  stillness,  he  found  the  old  man 
standing  against  the  wall,  mournful  and  dumb,  looking 
upon  the  dead  face,  as  if  the  whole  world  had  for  him 
been  cast  down  there.  He  did  not  even  seek  to  com 
fort  the  poor  mother,  who  was  kneeling  by  the  bench, 
with  her  arms  clasped  about  all  that  was  left  of  her  son, 
unconscious  that  his  dripping  garments  were  chilling  her 
bosom  through  to  the  heart,  or  that  the  face  to  which 
she  laid  hers  with  such  pathetic  mourn  fulness  had  been 
frozen  to  marble  in  the  depths  of  the  lake. 

As  the  kind  neighbor  drew  near  and  would  gladly 
have  offered  consolation,  the  poor  old  woman  looked  up 
with  a  piteous  smile  on  her  lips  and  said : 

"  My  brave,  brave  lad  lost  his  life  in  saving  a  poor 
creature,  who  would  have  been  drowned  but  for  him." 

Then  she  dropped  her  face  again,  and  was  still  as  the 
dead  she  embraced ;  but  as  she  spoke  of  her  son's  bravery, 
those  scant,  hot  tears  that  agony  forces  on  old  age  came 
to  her  eyes  and  burned  there. 


COMING     HOME.  437 

CHAPTER    LXXIV. 

COMING     HOME. 

^TTXCLE,  I  have  brought  you  a  daughter." 

^J  Sir  Noel  looked  up  from  the  volume  he  was 
reading,  and  saw  Lady  Rose  standing  before  him,  flushed, 
agitated,  but  with  a  glow  of  exaltation  in  her  eyes  that 
he  had  never  seen  there  before.  With  one  arm  she  en 
circled  the  waist  of  Walton's  bride,  the  other  hand  she 
extended  in  the  grace  of  unconscious  pleading ;  for  the 
young  creature  she  more  than  half  supported  was  tremb 
ling  like  a  leaf.  Touched  with  exquisite  pity,  Sir  Noel 
arose,  drew  Ruth  gently  toward  him,  and  kissed  her  on 
the  forehead. 

"  We  shall  have  Walton  better  now,"  he  said,  leading 
her  to  a  seat.  "  With  two  such  nurses  he  can  have  no 
excuse  for  keeping  ill." 

"  Is  he  so  ill  ?  "  questioned  Ruth,  blushing  crimson  at 
the  sound  of  her  own  voice.  "  I  thought,  I  hoped — " 

"We  all  hoped  that  the  short  journey  up  from  '  Nors- 
ton's  Rest '  would  do  him  good  rather  than  harm  ;  but  he 
has  been  more  than  usually  restless,"  said  Sir  Noel. 
Lady  Rose  will  excuse  me,  I  will  have  the  pleasure  of 
taking  you  to  his  room  myself." 

Ruth  stood  up,  blushing  because  of  her  own  eager 
wishes ;  ready  to  cry  because  of  the  quiet  gentleness  with 
which  her  intrusion  into  that  family  had  been  received. 
Never,  in  all  her  short  life,  had  she  so  keenly  felt  the 
great  social  barriers  that  she  had  overleaped.  If  re 
proaches  and  coldness  had  met  her  on  the  threshold  of 
that  house,  she  could  have  borne  them  better  than  the 


438  NORSTON'S    REST. 

kindness  with  which  Lady  Rose  had  introduced  her,  and 
the  gracious  reception  awarded  her  by  Sir  Noel ;  for  she 
could  not  help  feeling  how  much  had  been  suppressed 
and  forgiven  by  that  proud  man,  before  he  could  thus 
offer  to  present  her  with  his  own  hand  to  his  son. 

When  Sir  Noel  offered  his  arm,  she  took  it  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  with  such  trembling  that  the  old  man 
patted  the  hand  that  scarcely  dared  to  touch  him,  and 
smiled  as  he  looked  down  upon  her. 

They  went  up  a  flight  of  steps  and  through  several 
rooms.  The  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  was  by  no  means 
so  spacious  as  "  Norston's  Rest/'  but  the  splendor  of  its 
more  modern  adornment  would  have  won  her  admiration 
at  another  time.  Now  she  only  thought  of  the  husband 
she  had  fled  from,  to  whom  his  own  father  was  conduct 
ing  her. 

Sir  Noel  opened  a  door,  paused  on  the  threshold  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  went  into  the  room  where  Walton  Hurst 
was  sitting. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  in  his  usual  quiet  voice,  "you  must 
thank  Lady  Rose  for  the  surprise  I  bring  you.  It  is 
she  who  has  persuaded  your  wife  to  come  home  to  us 
with  a  less  ceremonious  welcome  than  I  was  prepared  to 
give." 

Walton  Plurst  stood  up  like  a  healthy  man,  for  aston 
ishment  had  given  him  fictitious  strength  ;  he  came  for 
ward  at  once,  reaching  out  both  hands.  Sir  Noel  quietly 
withdrew  his  arm  from  the  hand  that  had  hardly  dared 
to  rest  on  it,  and  left  the  room. 

The  marriage  of  Walton  Hurst,  only  son  of  Sir  Noel 
Hurst,  of  "Norston's  Rest,"  to  Miss  Ruth  Jessup, 
daughter  of  the  late  William  Jessup,  was  announced  in 
the  Court  Journal  that  week.  Some  few  persons  noticed 


COMING     HOME.  439 

that  the  usual  details  were  omitted ;  but  the  fact  itself 
was  enough  to  surprise  and  interest  society,  for  young 
Hurst  was  considered  the  best  match  of  the  season,  and 
no  one  could  learn  more  of  the  bride  than  that  Sir  Noel 
was  well  pleased  with  the  match,  and  the  young  lady 
herself  was  the  most  intimate  friend  of  his  lovely  ward, 

the  Lady  Rose. 

****** 

The  joy  bells  were  ringing  merrily  at  "Norston's 
Rest."  Sir  Noel  and  Lady  Rose  had  been  down  at  the 
old  mansion  more  than  a  month,  and  guests  chosen  from 
the  brightest  and  highest  of  the  land  were  invited  to  re 
ceive  the  young  heir  and  his  bride  on  their  return  from  a 
brief  wedding  tour  on  the  continent.  Having  once  ac 
cepted  this  fair  girl  as  his  daughter,  Sir  Noel  was  a  man 
to  stand  right  nobly  by  the  position  he  had  taken.  Bom 
a  gardener's  daughter,  she  was  now  a  Hurst,  and  must 
receive  in  all  things  the  homage  due  a  lady  of  "  Norston's 
Rest," 

For  this  reason  those  joy  bells  were  filling  the  valley 
with  their  sweetest  music ;  for  this  the  streets  of  the  vil 
lage  were  arched  with  evergreens,  and  school-children 
were  busy  scattering  flowers  along  the  street  to  be  trodden 
down  by  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  or  the  hoofs  of  four 
black  horses,  sent  to  meet  the  young  couple  at  the 
station. 

It  was  a  holiday  in  the  village.  The  tenants  on  the 
estate  turned  out  in  a  body,  and  were  to  be  entertained 
now  as  they  had  been  when  the  young  heir  became  of 
age. 

The  landlady  of  the  "  Two  Ravens  "  stood  at  the  inn 
door,  with  her  arms  full  of  yellow  lilies,  hollyhocks  and 
sweetwilliams,  which  she  lavished  in  gorgeous  masses 


440  NO  us  TON'S    REST. 

on  the  carriage  as  it  passed.  Hurst  took  np  one  of  the 
flowers  and  gave  it  to  the  bride,  who  held  it  to  her 
lips,  and  smiled  pleasantly  upon  the  good  friends  of  her 
father  as  she  passed  through  them. 

When  the  carriage  drew  up  at  "  Xorston's  Rest,"  Sir 
Noel  came  down  the  steps,  took  Ruth  upon  his  arm,  and 
led  her  across  the  great  terrace  into  the  hall,  where  Lady 
Rose  stood  ready  to  welcome  her.  In  the  background 
all  the  servants  of  the  household  were  assembled,  headed 
by  the  steward  and  Mrs.  Mason,  both  quiet  and  reveren 
tial  in  their  reception  of  the  bride,  as  if  they  had  never 
seen  her  before. 

Still,  in  the  good  housekeeper's  face  there  was  a  proud 
lighting  up  of  the  countenance,  that  might  have  been 
traced  to  an  inward  consciousness  that  it  was  her  protegee 
and  goddaughter  who  was  receiving  all  this  welcoming 
homage ;  but  from  that  day  no  person  ever  heard  Mrs. 
Mason  allude  to  the  fact,  except  once,  when  Ruth  ad 
dressed  her  by  the  old  endearing  title,  she  said,  with 
simple  gravity : 

"  Do  not  tempt  a  fond  old  woman  to  forgot  that  she  is 
only  housekeeper  to  the  mistress  of  (  Xorston's  Rest.' '; 

After  all  the  festivities  were  over,  and  Ruth  was  es 
tablished  in  her  new  position,  Lady  Rose,  who  had  been 
the  leading  spirit  in  every  social  arrangement,  came  to 
Sir  Xoel  in  his  library  one  day.  There  she  announced 
her  resolve  to  leave  "  The  Rest,"  and  retire  to  one  of  her 
own  estates  in  another  part  of  England — that  which  she 
had  once  been  willing  to  bestow  on  Richard  Storms  in 
ransom  of  Walton  Hurst's  honor.  The  old  baronet  re 
ceived  this  proposal  with  even  less  composure  than  he 
had  exhibited  when  the  announcement  of  his  son's  mar 
riage  was  made  to  him.  With  grave  and  pathetic  sad- 


COMING     HOME.  441 

nes-s  he  drew  the  girl  toward  him  and  kissed  her  on  the 
forehead. 

u  I  will  not  ask  you  to  stay,  my  child,"  he  said,  hold 
ing  her  hands  in  his  until  both  began  to  tremble.  "I 
had  hoped  I — oh,  Rose  !  your  own  father  could  not  have 
parted  with  you  more  unwillingly.  It  will  not  seem 
like  the  old  place  without  you  to  any  of  us." 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes.  They  are  both  so  happy— very  happy ! 
Don't  you  think  so?  One  is  not  missed  much.  There, 
there,  Sir  Noel,  this  parting  with  you  almost  makes  me 
cry!" 

It  did  bring  tears  into  Sir  Noel's  eyes— the  first  that 
Lady  Rose  had  ever  seen  there  in  her  life. 


THE    E  x 


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A  Lonely  Life.    By  the  author  of  "  Wise  as  a  Serpent,"  etc 

The  Macdermots  of  Ballycloran.     By  Anthony  Trollope, 

The  Forsaken  Daughter.     A  Companion  to  "Linda," 

Love  and  Liberty.     A  Revolutionary  Story.     By  Alexander  Dumas, 

The  Morrisons.     By  Mrs.  Margaret  Hosmer, 

My  Son's  AVife.     By  author  of  "Caste,"  "Mr.Arle,"  etc 

The  Rich  Husband.     By  author  of  "  George  Geith,".., 

Harem  Life  in  Egypt  and  Constantinople.     By  Emmeline  Lott, 

The  Rector's  AVife;  or,  the  Valley  of  a  Hundred  Fires, 

AVoodburn  Grange.     A  Novel.     By  William  Howitt, 

Country  Quarters.     By  the  Countess  of  BleSfiingtnB, 

^ut  of  the  Depths.     The  Story  of  a  "AAroman's  Life," 

/he  Devoted  Bride.     A  Story  of  the  Heart.     By  St.  George  Tucker, 

The  Coquette;  or,  the  Life  and  Letters  of  Eliza  AVharton. 

The  Pride  of  Life.     A  Story  of  the  Heart.     By  Lady  Jane  Scott,.... 

The  Lost  Beauty.     By  a  Noted  Lady  of  the  Spanish  Court 

My  Hero.     By  Mrs.  Forrester.     A  Charming  Love  Story, 

The  Quaker  Soldier.  A  Revolutionary  Romance.  Bv  Judge  Jones,.... 

The  Man  of  the  World.     An  Autobiography.     By  William  North,... 

The  Queen's  Favorite  :  or,  The  Price  of  a  Crown.     A  Love  Story,... 

Self  Love:  or,  The  Afternoon  of  Single  and  Married  Life, 

Memoirs  of  A^idoeq,  the  French  Detective.     His  Life  and  Adventures, 

Camors.    "The  Man  of  the  Second  Empire."     By  Octave  Feuillet,.. 

The  Belle  of  AVashington.  AVith  her  Portrait.  By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Lnsselle, 

Cora  Belmont;  or,  The  Sincere  Lover.     A  True  Story  of  the  Heart.. 

Tho  Lover's  Trials;  or  Days  before  1776.  By  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Denison, 

High  Life  in  AVashington.    A  Life  Picture.    By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Lasselle, 

The  Beautiful  AVidow;  or,  Lodore.     By  Mrs.  Percy  B.  Shelley, 

Love  and  Money.     By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of  the  "  Rival  Belles,"... 

The  Matchmaker.    A  Story  of  High   Life.    By  Beatrice  Reynolds,..  1   75 

The  Brother's  Secret;  or,  the  Count  De  Mara.     By  William  Godwin,  1  75 

Life,  Speeches  and  Martyrdom  of  Abraham  Lincoln.     Illustrated,...  1  75 

Rome  and  the  Papacy.    A  History  of  the  Men,  Manners  and  Tempo 
ral  Government  of  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century, 1  75 

Above  books  are  each  in  cloth,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

^T  Above  Books  will  be  sent, postage  paid,  on  Receipt  of  Retail  Price, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    5 
WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

The  following  books  are   each    issued    in    one   large   duodecimo  volume, 
bound  in  doth,  at  $1.75  each,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover  at  §1.50  each. 
The  Count  of  Monte-Cristo.     By  Alexander  Duma?.     Illustrated, ...$1   75 
The  Countess  of  Monte-Cristo.     Paper  cover,  price  $1.00  ;  or  cloth,..  1  75 

Camille;   or,  the  Fate  of  a.  Coquette.     B}'  Alexander  Dumas, 1  75 

The  Lost  Love.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant,  author  of  "  Margaret .  Maitlaud,"  1  75 
The  Roman  Traitor.  By  Henry  William  Herbert.  A  Roman  Story,  1  75 

The  Bohemians  of  London.     By  Edward  M.  Whitty, 1  75 

Thu  Rival  Belles;  or,  Life  in  Washington.     By  J.  B.  Jones, 1  75 

Love  and  Duty.  By  Mrs.  Hubback,  author  of  "  May  and  December,"  1  75 
Wild  Sports  and  Adventures  in  Africa.  By  Major  W.  C.  Harris,  1  75 
Courtship  and  Matrimony.  By  Robert  Morris.  With  a  Portrait,...  1  75 

The  Jealous  Husband.     By  Annette  Marie  Maillard, 1  75 

The  Refugee.      By  Herman  Melville,  author  of  "Omoo,"  "  Typee,"  1  75 

The  Life,  Writings,  and  Lectures  of  the  late  "  Fanny  Fern," 1  75 

The  Life  and  Lectures  of  Lola  Montez,  with  her  portrait, 1  75 

Wild  Southern  Scenes.     By  author  of  "Wild  Western  Scenes," 1  75 

Currer  Lyle  ;  or,  the  Autobiography  of  an  Actress.  By  Louise  Reeder.  1  75 

The  Cabin  and  Parlor.     By  J.  Thornton  Randolph.     Illustrated, 175 

The  Little  Beauty.     A  Love  Story.     By  Mrs.  Grey. 1   75 

Li/.zie  Glenn;   or,  the  Trials  of  a  Seamstress.     By  T.  S.  Arthur 1  75 

Lady  Maud:  or,  the  WTonder  of  Kingsvvood  Chase.    By  Pierce  Egan,  1  75 

Wilfred  Montressor  ;   or,  High  Life  in  New  York.     Illustrated, 1  75 

The  Old  Stone  Mansion.  By  C.  J.  Peterson,  author  "  Kate  Aylesford,"  1  75 
Ka.te  Aylesford.  By  Chas.  J.  Peterson,  author  "  Old  Stone  Mansion,".  1  75 

Lorriuier  Littlegood,  by  author  "  Harry  Coverdale's  Courtship," 1  75 

The  Earl's  Secret.     A  Love  Story.     By  Miss  Pardoe, 1  75 

The  Adopted  Heir.  By  Miss  Pardoe,  author  of  "The  Earl's  Secret,"  1  75 
Coal,  Coal  Oil,  and  all  other  Minerals  in  the  Eiirth.  By  Eli  Bowen,  1  75 
Secession,  Coercion,  and  Civil  War.  By  J.  B.  Jones, 1  75 

Above  books  are  each  in  cloth,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 
The  Dead  Secret.    By  Wilkie  Collins,  author  "  The  Crossed  Path,"...   1  60 

The  Crossed  Path;  or  Basil.     By  Wilkie  Collins, 1   50 

Indiana.  A  Love  Story.  By  George  Sand,  author  of  "  Consuelo,"  1  50 
Jealousy  ;  or,  Teverino.  By  George  Sand,  author  of  "  Consuelo,"  etc.  1  60 
Six  Nights  with  the  Washingtonians,  Illustrated.  By  T.  S.  Arthur,  3  50 

BOOKS  FOR  PRIVATE  STUDY  AND  SCHOOLS. 

The  Lawrence  Speaker.  A  Selection  of  Literary  Gems  in  Poetry  and 
Prose,  designed  for  the  use  of  Colleges,  Schools.  Seminaries,  Literary 
Societies.  By  Philip  Lawrence,  Professor  of  Elocution.  6UO  pages..£2  00 

Comstock's  Elocution  and  Model  Speaker.  Intended  for  the  use  of 
Schools,  Colleges,  and  for  private  Study,  for  the  Promotion  of 
Health,  Cure  of  Stammering,  and  Defective  Articulation.  ~By  An 
drew  Com  stock  and  Philip  Lawrence.  With  236  Illustrations 2  00 

The  French,  German,  Spanish.  Latin  and  Italian  Languages  Without 
a  Master.  Whereby  any  one  of  these  Languages  can  be  learned 
without  a  Teacher.  By  A.  H.  Monteith.  One  volume,  cloth 2  00 

Comstoek's  Colored  Chart.  Being  a  perfect  Alphabet  of  the  Eng 
lish  Language,  Graphic  and  Typic,  with  exercises  in  Pitch,  Force 
and  Gesture,  and  Sixty-Eight  colored  figures,  representing  the  va 
rious  postures  and  different  attitudes  to  be  used  in  declamation. 
On  a  large  Roller.  Every  School  should  have  a  copy  of  it 5  00 

Liebig's  Complete  Works  on  Chemistry.     By  Baron  Justus  Liebig...  2  CO 


giT  Above  Books  will  be  sent,  postage  paid,  on  Receipt  of  Retail  Price 
by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Fa. 


6  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

The  following  books  are  each  issued  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume, 
"bound  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

Rose  Foster.  By  George  W.  M.  Reynolds,  Esq., $1  75 

The  Conscript;  or,  the  Days  of  Napoleon  1st.  By  Alex.  Dutuas,....  1  75 

Cousin  Harry.  By  Mrs.  Grey,  author  of  "  The  Gambler's  Wife,"  etc.  1  75 

Saratoga.  An  Indian  Tale  of  Frontier  Life.  A  true  Story  of  1787,..  1  75 

Married  at  Last.  A  Love  Story.  By  Annie  Thomas, 1  75 

Shoulder  Straps.  By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "Days  of  Shoddy,"  1  75 

Days  of  Shoddy.  By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "  Shoulder  Straps,"  1  75 

The.  Coward.  By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "  Shoulder  Straps," 1  75 

The  Cavalier.  By  G.  P.  R.James,  author  of  "Lord  Montagu's  Page,"  1  75 

Lord  Montagu's  Page.  By  G.  P.  R.  James,  author  of  "Cavalier,"...  1  75 

Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth's  Popular  Novels.  42  vols.  in  all,  73  -50 

Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens'  Celebrated  Novels.  22  volumes  in  all, 38  50 

Mrs.  C.  A.  Warfield's  Works.  Nine  volumes  in  all, 15  75 

Miss  Eliza  A.  Dupuy's  Works.  Fourteen  volumes  in  all, 24  50 

Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz's  Novels.  Twelve  volumes  in  all, 21  00 

Frederika  Bremer's  Novels.  Six  volumes  in  all, 10  50 

T.  A.  Trollope's  Works.  Seven  volumes  in  all, J2  25 

James  A.  Maitland's  Novels.  Seven  volumes  in  all,, 12  25 

Q.  K.  Philander  Doestick's  Novels.  Four  volumes  in  all, , 7  O'J 

Cook  Books.  The  best  in  the  world.  Eleven  volumes  in  all, 19  25 

Mrs.  Henry  Wood's  Novels.  Seventeen  volumes  in  all, 29  75 

Emerson  Bennett's  Novels.  Seven  volumes  in  all, 12  25 

Green's  Works  on  Gambling.  Four  volumes  in  all, 7  00 

Above  books  are  each  in  cloth,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

The  following  books  are  each   issued   in  one  large  octavo  volume,  bound    in 
cloth,  at  $2.00  each,  or  each  one  is  done  iq)  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

The  Wandering  Jew.     By  Eugene  Sue.     Full  of  Illustrations, $2  00 

Mysteries  of  Paris;  and  its  Sequel,  Gerolstein.     By  Eugene  Sue,....  2  00 

Martin,  the  Foundling.     By  Eugene  Sue.     Full  of  Illustrations, 2  00 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year.     By  Samuel  Warren.     With  Illustrations,....  2  00 

Washington  and  His  Generals.     By  George  Lippard.... 2  00 

The  Quaker  City;  or,  the  Monks  of  Monk  Hall.     By  George  Lippard,  2  00 

Blanche  of  Brandywine.     By  George  Lippard, 2  00 

Paul  Ardenheim;  the  Monk  of  Wissahickoo.     By  George  Lippard,.  2  00 

The  Pictorial  Tower  of  London.     By  W.  Harrison  Ainsworth, 2  50 

Above  books  are  each  iu  cloth,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

T/ie  following  are  each  issued  in  one  large  odaro  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  price  $2.00 
each,  or  a  dieap  edition  is  issued  in  paper  cover,  atlb  cents  each. 

Charles  O'Malley,  the  Irish  Dragoon.    By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,  $2  00 

Harry  Lorrequer.    With  his  Confessions.    By  Charles  Lever,. ..Cloth,    2  00 

Jack  Hinton,  the  Guardsman.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Davenport  Dunn.     A  Man  of  Our  Day.     By  Charles  Lever,. ..Cloth,    200 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours.     By  Charles  Lever Cloth,    2  00 

The  Knight  of  Gwynne.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Arthur  O'Leary.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Con  Cregan.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Horace  Ternpleton.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Kate  O'Donoghue.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Valentine  Vox,  the  Ventriloquist.     By  Harry  Cockton Cloth,    2  00 

Above  are  each  in  cloth,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  75  cents  each. 

II^T  Above  Books  will  be  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  Eetail  Price, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


T,  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS,     t 
NEW  AND  GOOD  BOOKS  BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

Beautiful  Snow,  and  Other  Poems.  New  Illustrated  Edition.  By  J. 
W.  Watson.  With  Illustrations  by  E.  L.  Henry.  One  volume,  green 
morocco  cloth,  gilt  top,  side,  and  back,  price  $2.00;  or  in  maroon 
morocco  cloth,  full  gilt  edges,  full  gilt  back,  full  gilt  sides,  etc., $3  00 

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green  morocco  cloth,  gilt  top,  side  and  back,  price  $2.00  ;  or  in  ma 
roon  morocco  cloth,  full  gilt  edges,  full  gilt  back,  full  gilt  sides,  ...  3  00 

The  Young  Magdalen;  and  Other  Poems.  By  Francis  S.  Smith, 
editor  of  "  The  New  York  Weekly."  With  a  portrait  of  the  author. 
Complete  in  one  large  volume  of  300  pages,  bound  in  green  mo 
rocco  cloth,  gilt  top,  side,  and  back,  price  $3.00;  or  in  maroon 
morocco  cloth,  full  gilt  edges,  full  gilt  back,  full  gilt  sides,  etc., ....  4  00 

Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads.  By  Charles  G.  Leland.  Volume  One.  Con 
taining  the  "  First,"  "Second,"  and  "  Third  Series"  of  the  "  Breit- 
mann  Ballads,"  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  gilt,  beveled  boards, 3  00 

Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads.  By  Charles  Gr.  Leland.  Volume  Two. 
Containing  the  "Fourth"  and  "Fifth  Series"  of  the  "  Breitmann 
Ballads,"  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  gilt,  beveled  boards, 2  00 

Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads.  By  Charles  G.  Leland.  Being  the  above 
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morocco  cloth,  gilt  side,  gilt  top,  and  full  gilt  back,  with  beveled 
boards.  With  a  full  and  complete  Glossary  to  the  whole  work, 4=  00 

Meister  Karl's  Sketch  Book.  By  Charles  G.  Leland,  (Hans  Breit- 
mann.)  Complete  in  one  volume,  green  morocco  cloth,  gilt  side, 
gilt  top,  gilt  back,  with  beveled  boards,  price  $2.50,  or  in  maroon 
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Historical  Sketches  of  Plymouth,  Luzerne  Co.,  Penna.  By  Hendrick 
B.  Wright,  of  Wilkesbarre.  With  Twenty-five  Photographs, 4-  00 

John  Jasper's  Secret.     A  Sequel  to  Charles  Dickens'  "  Mystery  of 

Edwin  Drood."     With  18  Illustrations.     Bound  in  cloth, 2  00 

The  Last  Athenian.  From  the  Swedish  of  Victor  Rydberg.  Highly 
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Across  the  Atlantic.  Letters  from  France,  Switzerland,  Germany, 
Italy,  and  England.  By  C.  H.  Haeseler,  M.D.  Bound  in  cloth,...  2  00 

The  Ladies'  Guide  to  True  Politeness  and  Perfect  Manners.  By 
Miss  Leslie.  Every  lady  should  have  it.  Cloth,  full  gilt  back,...  1  75 

The  Ladies'  Complete  Guide  to  Needlework  and  Embroidery.    With 

113  illustrations.     By  Miss  Lambert.      Cloth,  full  gilt  back, 1  75 

The  Ladies'  Work  Table  Book.      With  27  illustrations.      Cloth,  gilt,.  1  50 

The  Story  of  Elizabeth.  By  Miss  Thackeray,  paper  $1.00,  or  cloth,...  1  50 

Dow's  Short  Patent  Sermons.  By  Dow,  Jr.  In  4  vols.,  cloth,  each....  1  50 

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Hollick's  Anatomy  and  Physiology  of  the  Human  Figure.  Illustrated 
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Life  and  Adventures  of  Don  Quixote  and  his  Squire  Sancho  Panza, 
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The  Laws  and  Practice  of  the  Game  of  Euchre,  as  adopted  by  the 
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RiiM'll's  Model  Architect.  With  22  large  full  page  colored  illus 
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Ig^T  Above  Books  will  be  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  Eatail  Prioa, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


8    T.  B,  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


NEW  AND  GOOD  BOOKS  BY  BEST  AUTHORS, 

Treason  at  Home.     A  Novel.     By  Mrs.  Greenough,  cloth, $1  75 

Letters  from  Europe.    By  Colonel  John  W.  Forney.  Bound  in  cloth,   1  75 

Frank  Fairleigh.     By  author  of  "  Lewis  Arundel,"  cloth, 1   75 

Lewis  Arundel.     By  author  of  "Frank  Fairleigh,"  cloth, 1  75 

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The  Impeachment  Trial  of  President  Andrew  Johnson.     Cloth, 1  50 

Trial  of  the  Assassins  for  the  Murder  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  Cloth,...  1  50 
Lives  of  Jack  Sheppard  and  Guy  Fawkes.  Illustrated.  One  vol.,  cloth,  1  75 

Consuelo,  and  Countess  of  Rudolstadt.    One  volume,  cloth 2  00 

Monsieur  Antoine.  By  George  Sand.  Illustrated.  One  vol.,  clolh,  1  00 
Aurora  Floyd.  By  Miss  Braddon.  One  vol.,  paper  75  cents,  cloth,...  1  00 
Christy  and  White's  Complete  Ethiopian  Melodies,  bound  in  cloth,...  1  00 

The  Life  of  Charles  Dickens.     By  R.  Shelton  Mackenzie,  cloth,  2  00 

The  Life  of  Edwin  Forrest;  with  Reminiscences  and  Personal  Recol 
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Poetical  Works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.     One  8vo.  volume,  fine  binding,  5  00 

Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.     By  John  G.  Lockhart.     With  Portrait, 250 

The  Shakspeare  Novels.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  cloth,  4  00 
Miss  Pardoe's  Choice  Novels.  In  one  large  octavo  volume,  cloth,...  4  00 
The  Waverley  Novels.  National  Edit!  on.  Five  large  8vo.  vols.,  cloth,  15  00 
Charles  Dickens'  Works.  People's  I2mo.  Edition.  22  vols.,  cloth,  34  00 
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HUMOROUS  ILLUSTRATED  WORKS. 

Each  one  is  full  of  Illustrations,  by  Felix  0.  C.  Darhy,  and  bound  in  Cloth. 

Major  Jones'  Courtship  and  Travels.     With   21   Illustrations, ...$1  75 

Major  Jones' Scenes  in  Georgia.     With  16  Illustrations, 1  75 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and  Travels.     With   17  Illustrations, 1  75 

Swamp  Doctor's  Adventures  in  the  South-West.     14  Illustration?,...  1   75 

Col.  Thorpe's  Scenes  in  Arkansaw.     With  16  Illustrations, 1   75 

The  Big  Bear's  Adventures  and  Travels.    With  18   Illustrations, 1   75 

High  Life  in  New  York,  by  Jonathan    Slick.     With  Illustrations,....  1   75 

Judge  JIaliburton's  Yankee  Stories.     Illustrated, 1  75 

Harry  Coverdale's  Courtship  and  Marriage.     Illustrated, 1  75 

Piney  Wood's  Tavern;  or,  Sam   Slick  in   Texns.     Illustrated, 1  75 

Sam  Slick,  the  Clockmaker.     By  Judge  Haliburton.     Illustrated,...  1   75 

Humors  of  Falconbridge.     By  J.  F.  Kelley.     With  Illustrations,  ...  1  75 

Modern  Chivalry.     By  Judge  Breckenridge.     Two  vols.,  each 1   75 

Neal's  Charcoal  Sketches.     By  Joseph   C.  Neal.     21  Illustrations,...  2  50 

MADAME  GEORGE  SAND'S  WORKS. 

Consuelo,  12rno.,  cloth, $1   501  Jealousy,  12mo.  cloth, $1  50 

Countess  of  Rudolstsftlt, 1  501  Indiana,  12mo.,  cloth, 1  50 

Above  are  only  published  in  12rno.,  cloth,  gilt  side  and  back. 

Fanchon,  the  Cricket,  price  $1.00  in  paper,  or  in  cloth, 1  50 

First  and  True  Love, 75   The  Corsair 50 

Simon.     A  Love  Story, 50    The  Last  Aldini, 50 

Monsieur  Antoine.     With  11   Illustrations.      Paper,  75  ceats  ;  cloth,  1  00 

Consuelo  and  Countess  of  Rudolstadt,  octavo,  cloth, 2  00 

Above  Books  will  be  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  Retail  Price, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


T,  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.     9 
DUMAS',  REYNOLDS',  AND  OTHER  BOOKS  IN  CLOTH. 

The  following    are  cloth  editions  of  the  following  good  look*,  and  they  art. 

each  issued  in  one  large  volume,  bound  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 
The  Three  Guardsmen  ;  or.  The  Three  Mousquetaires.  By  A.  Dumas,$l  75 
Twenty  Years  After;  or  the  "  Second  Series  of  Three  Guardsmen,"...  1  75 
Bragclonne;  Son  of  Athos  ;  or  "  Third  Series  of  Three  Guardsmen,"  1  75 
The  Iron  Mask  ;  or  the  "  Fourth  Series  of  The  Three  Guardsmen,"....  1  75 
Louise  La  Valliere;  or  the  "Fifth  Series  and  End  of  the  Three 

Guardsmen  Series," 1   75 

The  Memoirs  of  a  Physician.  By  Alexander  Dumas.  Illustrated,...  1  75 
Queen's  Necklace;  or  "  Second  Scries  of  Memoirs  of  a  Physician,"  I  75 
Six  Years  Later;  or  the  "  Third  Scries  of  Memoirs  of  a  Physician,"  1  75 
Countess  of  Charny  ;  or  "  Fourth  Series  of  Memoirs  of  a  Physician"  1  75 
Andree  De  Taverney ;  or  "  Fifth  Series  of  Memoirs  of  a  Physician,"  1  75 
The  Chevalier;  or  the  "Sixth  Series  and  End  of  the  Memoirs  of  a 

Physician  Series," 1   75 

The  Adventures  of  a  Marquis.     By  Alexander  Dumas 1  75 

Edmond  Dantes.     A  Sequel  to  the  "  Count  of  Monte-Cristo," 1  75 

The  Forty-Five  Guardsmen.  By  Alexander  Dumas.  Illustrated,...  1  75 
Diana  of  Mevidor,  or  Lady  of  Monsoreau.  By  Alexander  Dumas,...  1  75 
The  Iron  Hand.  By  Alex.  Dumas,  author  "Count  of  Monte-Cristo/'  1  75 
The  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  London.  By  George  W.  M.  Reynolds,  1  75 
Roso  Foster;  or  the  ''Second  Series  of  Mysteries  of  Court  of  London,"  1  75 
Caroline  of  Brunswick ;  or  the  "  Third  Series  of  the  Court  of  London,"  1  75 
VenetiaTrelawney;  or  "End  of  the  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  London,"  1  75 

Lord  Saxondale;  or  the  Court  of  Queen  Victoria.    By  Reynolds, 1  75 

Count  Christoval.    Sequel  to  "  Lord  Saxondale."     By  Reynolds, 1  75 

Rosa  Lambert;  or  Memoirs  of  an  Unfortunate  Woman.  By  Reynolds,  1  75 
Mary  Price;  or  the  Adventures  of  a  Servant  Maid.  By  Reynold?,...  1  75 
Eustace  Quentin.  Sequel  to  "  Mary  Price."  By  G.  W.  M.  Reynolds,  1  75 
Joseph  Wilmot;  or  the  Memoirs  of  a  Man  Servant.  By  Reynolds,...  1  75 

Banker's  Daughter.  Sequel  to  "Joseph  Wilmot."   By  Reynolds, 1  75 

Kenneth.      A  Romance  of  the  Highlands.       By  G.  W.  M.  Reynolds,  1  75 

Rye-House  Plot;   or  the  Conspirator's  Daughter.    By  Reynolds, 1  75 

Necromancer;  or  the  Times  of  Henry  the  Eighth.    By  Reynolds, 1  75 

Within  the  Maze.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "East  Lynne,".  1  75 
Dene  Hollow.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "  Within  the  Maze,"  1  75 
Bessy  Rane.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "  The  Channings,"....  1  75 
George  Canterbury's  Will.  By  Mrs.  Wood,  author  "Oswald  Cray,"  1  75 
The  Channings.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "  Dene  Hollow,"...  1  75 

Roland  Yorke.     A  Sequel  to  "  The  Channings."    By  Mrs.  Wood, 1   75 

Shadow  of  Ashlydyatt.    By  Mrs.  Wood,  author  of  "Bessy  Rane," ]    75 

Lord  Oakburn's  Daughters;  or  The  Earl's  Heirs.  By  Mrs.  Wood,...  1  75 
Verner's  Pride.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "  The  Channings,"  1  75 
The  Castle's  Heir;  or  Lady  Adelaide's  Oath.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  1  75 
Oswald  Cray.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "Roland  Yorke,"....  1  75 

Squire  Trevlyn's  Heir;  or  Trevlyn  Hold.     By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood, 1   75 

The  Red  Court  Farm.  By  Mrs.  Wood,  author  of  "Verner's  Pride/'...  1  75 
Bister's  Folly.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of"  Castle's  Heir,"...  1  75 
St.  Martin's  Eve.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "Dene  Hollow,"  1  75 
Mildred  Arkell.  By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood,  author  of  "East  Lynne,"....  1  75 
Cyrilla;  or  the  Mysterious  Engagement.  By  author  of  "Initials,"  1  75 

The  Miser's  Daughter.      By  William  Harrison  Ainsworth,  1    75 

The  Mysteries  of  Florence.  By  Geo.  Lippard,  author  "  Quaker  City,"  1   75 

IgiT  Above  Books  will  be  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  Retail  Price, 
by  T.  B,  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


12  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


ALEXANDER  DUMAS'  WORKS, 


Count  of  Monte-Cristo,  $1  50 

Memoirs  of  a  Physician,  
Queen's  Necklace.... 

$1  00 
1  00 
1  00 
1  00 
1  00 
1  00 
1  00 
1   <  0 
1  50 
1   00 
1  50 
. 
75 
50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
25 

Edmond  Dantes,  75 

The  Three  Guardsmen,  75   Six  Years  Later, 

Twenty  Years  After,  75   Countess  of  Charnv.  .. 

Bragclonne,  75 

Andree  do  Tavern  cy 

The  Iron  Mask  1  00 

The  Chevalier, 

Louise  La  Valiiere,  1  00 

Diana  of  Meridor,  1  00 

The  Iron  Hand,  

Adventures  of  a  Marquis,  1  00 
Love  and  Liberty,  (l7y2-'93)..  1  50 
Camille;  or,  The  Fate  of  a  Coquette, 
The  above  are  each  in  paper  cov 
The  Mohicans  of  Paris                      75 

The  Conscript,  

Countess  of  Monte-Cristo,  
(La  Dame  Aux  Camelias.)  
er,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  eacl 
Annette;  or,  Lady  of  Pearls,... 
George  ;  or,  Isle  of  France,  
Madame  De  Chamblay 

The  Horrors  of  Paris,  75 

The  Fallen  Ano-el,  75 

The  Black  Tulip, 

Sketches  in  France,  75 

The  Corsican  Brothers  . 

Isabel  of  Bavaria,  75 

The  Count  of  Moret 

Twin  Lieutenants,  75 

The  Marriage  Verdict 

Man  with  Five  Wives,  ,               75 

Buried  Alive,... 

GEORGE  W.  M.  REYNOLDS'  WORKS. 


Mysteries  Court  of  London,. ...$1 

Rose  Foster, 1 

Caroline  of  Brunswick, 1 

Venetia  Trelawney,. 

Lord  Saxondale, 

Count  Christoral, .... 

Rosa  Lambert, 

\Vallace,  the  Hero  of  Scotland,. 


Mary  Price, $1 

Eustace  Quentin, 1 

Joseph  Wilmot., 1 

Banker's  Daughter, 1 

Kenneth, 1 

The  Rye-House  Plot, 1 

The  Necromancer, 1 

The  Gipsy  Chief, 1 


The  Mysteries  of  the  Court  of  Naples,  full  of  Illustrations 1 

Robert  Bruce,  the  Hero  King  of  Scotland,  full  of  Illustrations, 1 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 


Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scots,.. 

The  Opera  Dancer, 

Child  of  Waterloo, 

Isabella  Vincent, 

Vivian  Bertram,... 


75 
75 
75 
75 
75 

Countess  of  Lascelles, 75 

Duke  of  March  in  or  t, 75 

Massacre  of  Glencoe, 75 

Loves  of  the  Harem, 75 

The  Soldier's  Wife, 75 

May   Middleton,. 


Ellen  Percy, 

Agnes  Evelyn, 

Pickwick  Abroad, 

Parricide, 

Discarded  Queen, 

Life  in  Paris, 

The  Countess  and  the  Page 

Edgar  Montrose, 

The  Ruined  Gamester, 

Clifford  and  the  Actress, 


Ciprina;  or,  the  Mysteries  and  Secrets  of  a  Picture  Gallery, 


MISS  PARDOE'S  POPULAR  WORKS. 

The  Rival  Beauties 


Romance  of  the  Harem, 


Confessions  of  a  Pretty  Woman,       75 

The  Wife's  Trials, 75 

The  Jenlous  Wife 50 

The  five  above  books  are  also  bound  in  one  volume,  cloth,  for  $4.00. 

The  Adopted  Heir.     One  volume,  paper,  $1.50;  or  in  cloth, $1 

The  Earl's  Secret.     One  volume,  paper,  $1.50;  or  in  cloth,  1 


00 
01) 
00 
00 
Mi 
00 
(HI 
00 
00 
(JO 

75 
75 
75 
75 
fi 
60 
&fl 
io 

50 
50 


75 


Above  books  will  ba  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  Retail  Price, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    13 
CHARLES  LEVER'S  BEST  WORKS. 

Arthur  O'Leary, 75 


Charles  O'Malley, 75 

Harry  Lorrequer, 75 

Jack  Hinton, 75 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours,.., 75 

Knight  of  Gwynne, 75 


Con  Cregan, 75 

DavenportDunn, 75 

Horace  Templeton, 75 

Kate  O'Donoghue, 75 


Above  are  in  paper  cover,  or  a  fine  edition  is  iu  cloth  at  $2.00  each. 

A  Rent  in  a  Cloud, 50  |  St.  Patrick's  Eve, , 50 

Ten  Thousand  a  Tear,  in  one  volume,  paper  cover,  $1.50;  or  in  cloth,  2  00 
The  Diary  of  a  Medical  Student,  by  author  "  Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"       75 

MRS.  HENRY  WOOD'S  BEST  BOOKS. 

The  Master  of  Greylands, $1  50|The  Shadow  of  Ashlydyat, $1  50 

Wuhin  the  Maze, 1  50  Squire  Trevlyn's  Heir, 1 


Dene  Hollow, 1  50 

Bessy  Rane 1  50 


Oswald  Cray, 1  50 

Mildred  Arkell, 1   50 


The  Red  Court  Farm, 1  50 

Folly, 1   50 


George  Canterbury's  Will, 1  50 

Verner's  Pride, 1  50 

The  Channings, 1   50  i  Saint  Martin's  Eve, 1  50 

Roland  Yorke.     A  Sequel  to  "  The  Channings," 1  50 

Lord  Oakburn's  Daughters;  or,  The  Earl's  Heirs, 1   50 

The  Castle's  Heir  ;  or,  Lady  Adelaide's  Oath, 1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

The  Mystery, 75   A  Life's  Secret, 50 

The  Lost  Bank  Note, 50   The  Haunted  Tower, 51? 

The   Lost  Will, 50   The  Runaway  Match, 25 

Orville  College, 50J  Martyn  Ware's  Temptations,..  2i 

Five  Thousand  a  Year,   25|  The  Dean  of  Denhain, 25 

The  Diamond  Bracelet,  25!  Foggy  Night  at  Offord, 25 


Clara  Lake's  Dream,  25 

The  Nobleman's  Wife, 25 

Frances  Hildyard, 25 

EUGENE  SUE'S  GREAT  WORKS. 


William  Allair. 

A  Light  and  a  Dark  Christmas,       25 

The  Smuggler's  Ghost, 25 


The  Wandering  Jew, $1  50 

The  Mysteries  of  Paris, 1   50 

Martin,  the  Foundling 1   50 

Above  are  in  cloth  at  $2.00  each. 


First  Love, 50 

Woman's  Love, 50 

Female  Bluebeard, 50 

Man-of- War's- Man,...  50 


Life  and  Adventures  of  Raoul  dc  Surville.     A  Tale  of  the  Empire,...       25 

CHARLES  J.  PETERSON'S  WORKS. 

The  Old  Stone  Mansion, $1  50  I  Kate  Aylesford, $1  50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

Cruising  in  the  Last  War, 75  I  Grace  Dudley;  or,  Arnold  at 

Valley  Farm, 251      Saratoga, 50 

WILLIAM  H.  MAXWELL'S  WORKS. 

Wild  Sports  of  the  West, 75  I  Brian  O'Lynn, 75 

Stories  of  Waterloo, 75  I  Life  of  Grace  O'Malley, 50 

MISS    BRADDON'S    WORKS. 

Aurora  Floyd, 75  I  The  Lawyer's  Secret 25 

Aurora  Floyd,  cloth 1  00  |  For  Better,  For  Worse, 75 


Above  books  will  ba  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  Retail  Price, 
by  T  B,  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


14    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 
HUMOROUS  AMERICAN  WORKS. 

Beautifully  Illustrated  by  Felix  0.  C.  Darley. 

Major  .'ones' Courtship 75   Drama  in  Pukerville, 75 

Major  Jones' Travels, 75  !The  Quorndon  Hounds,...  75 


Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and 

Travels, 75 

Miijor  Jones'  Chronicles  of 

Pineville, 75 

Polly  Peablossom's  Wedding)..  75 

Mysteries  of  the  Backwoods,...  75 

Widow  Rugby's  Husband, 75 

Big  Bear  of  Arkansas 75 

Western  Scenes;  or,  Life  on 

the  Prairie, 75 

Streaks  of  Squatter  Life, 75 

Pickings  from  the  Picayune,...  75 
Stray  Subjects,  Arrested  and 

Bound  Over, 75 

Louisiana  Swamp  Doctor, 75 

Charcoal  Sketches, 75 

Misfortunes  of  Peter  Faber,....  75 

Yankee  among  the  Mermaitls,..  75 

New  Orleans  Sketch  Book, 75 


My  Shooting  Box, 75 

Warwick  Woodlands, 75 

The  DeerStalkcrs, 75 

Peter  Ploddy. 75 

Adventures  of  Captain  Farrago,  75 
Major  O'Regan's  Adventures,..  75 
Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Appren 
ticeship, 75 

Sol.   Smith's   Theatrical  Jour 
ney-Work, 75 

The  Quarter  Race  in  Kentucky,  75 

Aunt  Patty's  Scrap  Bag, 75 

Percival    Mayberry's    Adven 
tures  and  Travels, 75 

Sam  Slick's  Yankee  Yarns  and 

Yankee  Letters, 75 

Adventures  of  Fudge  Fumble,.  75 


FRANK  FAIRLEGH'S  WORKS. 

Frank  Fairlegh 75  I  Harry  Racket  Scapegrace, 75 

Lewis  Arundel, 75  I  Tom  Racquet, 75 

Finer  editions  of  the  above  are  also  issued  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each. 

Harry   Coverdale's    Courtship,  1  50  |  Lorrirner  Littlegood 1   50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 
The  Colville  Family.     By  author  of  "  Frank  Fairlegh," 50 


WILLIAM  HARRISON  AINSWORTE'S  WORKS. 


Life  of  Jack  Sheppard, 50  i  Life  of  Dick  Turpin,... 

Life  of  Guy  Fawkes, 75    Life  of  Davy  Crocket!, 

Court  of  the  Stuarts, 75 

Windsor  Castle, 75 

The  Star  Chamber, 75 

Old  St.  Paul's, 75 

CourtofQueen  Anne, 50 

The  Tower  of  London,  with  93  illustrations,  paper  cover,  1.5n,  cloth,  2  50 

The  Miser's  Daughter,  paper  cover,  1.00,  or  in  cloth, 1   75 

Lives  of  Jack  Sheppard  and  Guy  Fawkes,  in  one  volume,  cloth, 1  75 


Life  of  Grace  O'Malley 

Desperadoes  of  the  Nev'World, 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas, 

Life  of  Ninon  De  L'Enclos,.... 

Life  of  Arthur  Spring, 


MISS  ELLEN  PICKERING'S  WORKS. 


The  Grumbler, 

Marrying  for  Money, 
Poor  Cousin,... 


Kate  Walsingliam, 50 

Orphan   Niece, 50 

Who  Shall  be  Heir?....  33 


The  Squire, 38  |  Ellen  Wareham, 38  1  Nan  Darrel, 38 

SAMUEL  WARREN'S  BEST  BOOKS. 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  paper,. .$1  50  i  The  Diary  of  a  MedicaJ    ^til- 
Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  cloth,...  2  00  I      dent, 75 


J^*  Above  Books  will  be  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  Retail  Price, 
by  T.  B,  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


MRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS'  NEW  BOOK. 


NORSTON'S    REST. 

AN  ENTIRE  NEW  NOYEL. 
BY   MRS.    ANN   S.    STEPHENS. 

Author  of  "  Fashion  and  Famine,"  "  The  Rejected  Wife,"  etc. 

MUS.  AtfN  S.  STEPHENS'  NEW  BOOK. 

NOBSTON'S  REST.  An  Entire  New  Novel.  By  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens.  Bound 
in  morocco  cloth,  full  gilt  back  and  sides,  price  $1.75;  or  in  paper  cover,  price  $1.50. 

MRS.    ANN    S.    STEPHENS'    COMPLETE    WORKS. 

Complete  in  twevty-fftri't',  volumes.  Lottnil  in  mnrofc"  cloth,  ivi/k  a  full  c;ilt  back, 
price  $1.75  each;  or  840  25  a  set,  each  set  in  a  neat  box.  T tie.  Julio  wing  are  their  names: 

NORSTCN'S  REST. 
BERTHA'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

BELLEHOOD  AND  BONDAGE;  or,  Bought  with  a  Price. 
LORD  HOPE'S  CHOICE;  or,  More  Secrets  Than  One. 
THE  OLD  COUNTESS.    Sequel  to  "Lord  Hope's  Choice." 
THE  REIGNING  BELLE. 
PALACES  AND  PRISONS;  or,  The  Prisoner  of  the  Bastile. 

A  NOBLE  WOMAN;  or,  A  Gulf  Between  Them. 
THE  CURSE  OF  GOLD ;  or,  The  Bound  Girl  and  Wife's  Trials. 
MABEL'S  MISTAKE;  or,  The  Lost  Jewels. 
WIVES  AND  WIDOWS;  or,  The  Broken  Life. 

THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD;  or,  Pet  From  the  Poor  House. 
THE  REJECTED  WiFE ;  or,  The  Ruling  Passion. 
THE  WIFE'S  SECRET;  or,  Gillian. 
THE  HEIRESS;  or,  The  Gipsy's  Legacy. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS. 
SILENT  STRUGGLES;  or,  Barbara  Stafford. 
RUBY  GRAY'S  STRATEGY;  or,  Married  by  Mistake. 
FASHION  AND  FAMINE. 

MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 
DOUBLY  FALSE;  or,  Alike  and  Not  Alike. 
THE  GOLD  BRICK. 
MARY  DERWENT. 

£33"  Above  books  are  for  safe  by  all  Booksellers  at  $1.75  each,  or 
$40.25/0?'  a  complete  set  of  the  twenty -three  volumes.  Copies  of  either 
one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  or  a  complete  set  of  them,  will  be  sent  at 
once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  prepaid,  or  free  of  freight,  on 
rewitting  their  price  in  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  13.  PETERSON  &  BROTHER?, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  P.A. 


fc  CAROLINE  LEE  tan  fforn 


12  VOLUMES,  AT  $1.75  EACH ;  OR  $21.00  A  SET. 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  No.  306  Chestnut  Street, 
Philadelphia,  have  just  published  an  entire  new,  complete,  and  uniform 
edition  of  all  the  celebrated  Novels  written  by  the  popular  American 
Novelist,  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz,  in  twelve  large  duodecimo  volumes. 
They  are  printed  on  the  finest  paper,  and  bound  in  the  most  beautiful 
style,  in  Green  Morocco  cloth,  with  a  new,  full  gilt  back,  and  sold  at 
the  low  price  of  $1.75  each,  or  $21.00  for  a  full  and  complete  set. 
Every  Family  and  every  Library  in  this  country,  should  have  in  it  a 
complete  set  of  this  new  and  beautiful  edition  of  the  works  of  Mrs. 
Caroline  Lee  Hentz.  The  following  is  a  complete  list  of 

MRS,  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ'S  WORKS, 

LINDA;  OR,  THE  YOUNG  PILOT  OF  THE  BELLE  CREOLE.    With 

a  complete  Biography  of  Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz. 
ROBERT   GRAHAM.    A  Sequel  to  "Linda;  or,  The  Young  Pilot 

of  the  Belle  Creole." 

RENA;  or,  THE  SNOW  BIRD.    A  Tale  of  Real  Life, 
MARCUS  WARLAND ;  or,  The  Long  Moss  Spring. 
ERNEST  LINWOOD ;  or,  The  Inner  Life  of  the  Author. 
EOLINE ;  or,  MAGNOLIA  VALE ;  or,  The  Heiress  of  Glenmore. 
THE  PLANTER'S  NORTHERN  BRIDE;  or,  Scenes  in  Mrs.  Hentz'i 

Childhood. 

HELEN  AND  ARTHUR ;  or,  Miss  Thusa's  Spinning- Wheel. 
COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE;   or,   The    Joys    and  Sorrows  of 

American  Life. 

LOVE  AFTER  MARRIAGE ;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 
THE  LOST  DAUGHTER ;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 
THE  BANISHED  SON ;  and  other  Stories  of  the  Heart. 

^0"  Above  Books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  at  $1.75  each,  ot 
$21. 00  for  a  complete  set  of  the  twelve  volumes.  Copies  of  either  one 
of  the  above  books,  or  a  complete  set  of  them,  will  be  sent  at  once  to 
<iny  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre-paid,  or  free  of  freight,  on  remit 
ting  their  price  in  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
1.50 
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1.50 
1.50 
1.50 


MRS,   HENRY^WOOD'S  NOVELS. 

T.  B  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  have  just  published  an  entire 
new  and  cheap  edition  of  the  following  works  written  by  Mrs.  Henry 
Wood.  Each  book  is  printed  from  large,  clear  type,  and  each  work  is 
issued  in  one  large  volume,  and  sold  at  the  following  low  rates  : 

THE  SHADOW  OF   ASHLYDYAT Price  $1.50 

GEORGE   CANTERBURY'S  WILL 

THE    CHANNINGS 

ROLAND  YORKE.  Sequel  to  "  The  Channings.".. . 
SQUIRE  TREVLYN'S  HEiR;  or,  Trevlyn  Hold.... 
LORD  OAKBURN'S  DAUGHTERS;  or,  Eari's  Heirs. 

THE  MASTER  OF  GREYLANDS 

THE  CASTLE'S  HEIR;  or,  Lady  Adelaide's  Oath.. 

WITHIN  THE   MAZE 

VERNER'S  PRIDE 

DENE  HOLLOW 

BESSY   RANE 

ELSTER'S  FOLLY 

SAINT  MARTIN'S  EVE 

OSWALD  CRAY 

THE  RED  COURT  FARM 

MILDRED   ARKELL - 

The  above  are  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each,  or  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each. 

PARKWATER;  or,  Told  in  the  Twilight Price  75  Cents. 

THE  MYSTERY "  75 

THE  LOST  BANK    NOTE 50 

A  LIFE'S  SECRET 

THE  HAUNTED  TOWER 50 

ORVILLE  COLLEGE 50 

THE   LOST  WiLL , 50 

MY  HUSBAND'S  FIRST  LOVE 

MARRYING  BENEATH  YOUR  STATION '  25 

THE  RUNAWAY  MATCH '  25 

C YRILLA  MAUDE'S  FIRST  LOVE "  25 

MY  COUSIN  CAROLINE'S  WEDDING 25 

THE   SELF-CONVICTED '  25 

FIVE  THOUSAND  A  YEAR '  25 

THE  DIAMOND  BRACELET '  25 

CLARA  LAKE'S  DREAM '  25 

THE  NOBLEMAN'S  WIFE "  25 

MARTYN  WARE'S   TEMPTATION "  25 

THE  SMUGGLER'S  GHOST .-  "  25 

FRANCES  HILDYARD "  25      " 

A  LIGHT  AND  A  DARK  CHRISTMAS "  25 

WILLIAM  ALLAIR;  or,  Running  Away  to  Sea...  "  25 

THE  FOGGY  NIGHT  AT  OFFORD "  25 

Above  books  are  each  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper  cover. 

^^  The  above  Books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  and  News  Agents. 
^^  Copies  of  any  one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  will  be  sent  to  any 
one,  to  any  place,  per  mail,  post-paid,  on  remitting  price  to 

T.  B.  PETERSOX  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STKEET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


CHARLES  BICKENS;_COIPLETE  FORKS. 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadel 
phia,  Pa.,  have  just  published  an  entire  new,  cheap,  and  complete 
edition  of  all  of  the  writings,  large  or  small,  of  Charles  Dickens.  Each 
book  is  printed  from  large,  clear  type,  and  each  work  is  issued  in  a  large 
octavo  volume,  'with  a  New  Illustrated  Cover.  This  edition  is  called 

"PETERSONS'  CHEAP  EDITION  FOB  THE  MILLION," 

And  it  is  the  ONL  Y  EDITION  of  the  COMPLETE  WRITINGS 
of  CHARLES  DICKENS  ever  printed.  The  following  volumes  com 
prise  the  ivhole  series,  and  they  are  sold  at  the  following  lout  rates : 

A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES Price  25  Cents. 

OLIVER  TWIST "  50      " 

DAVID  COPPERFIELD "  50      " 

AMERICAN   NOTES "  25       ' 

HARD  TIMES "  25       « 

GREAT   EXPECTATIONS "  50       ' 

PICKWICK   PAPERS "  50 

NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY "  50 

SKETCHES  BY  "  BOZ." "  50 

OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP "  50 

BARNABY   RUDGE "  50 

CHRISTMAS  STORIES  ;  and  Pictures  from  Italy.  "  50      «« 

MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT "  50      " 

DOMBEY  AND  SON "  50      " 

OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND "  50      " 

BLEAK  HOUSE "  50      " 

LITTLE    DORRIT "  50      " 

NO  THOROUGHFARE "  25      " 

HUNTED  DOWN;  and  other  Reprinted  Pieces.  "  50      " 

THE   UNCOMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER "  25      " 

THE  HOLLY-TREE  INN;  and  Other  Stories...  "  25      " 

SOMEBODY'S   LUGGAGE "  25       « 

THE   HAUNTED  HOUSE "  25 

MESSAGE   FROM  THE  SEA "  25 

A  HOUSE  TO  LET "  25 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  GOLDEN  MARY "  25 

DICKENS'    NEW  STORIES "  25      " 

THE   PERILS  OF  ENGLISH  PRISONERS "  25      " 

TOM  TIDDLER'S  GROUND "  25 

MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LODGINGS "  25 

DOCTOR  MARIGOLD'S  PRESCRIPTIONS "  25 

MRS.  LIRRIPER'S  LEGACY "  25 

MUGBY  JUNCTION "  25 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD "  25 

THE  LIFE  OF  JOSEPH  GRIMALDI "  50 

THE  PIC-NIC   PAPERS "  50 

LAZY  TOUR  OF  TWO  IDLE  APPRENTICES...  "  25 

"'  Copies  of  any  one,  or  more,  or  all  of  the  above  books,  will  be  Kent 
to  any  one,  to  any  place,  per  mail,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  price  of  the 
ones  wanted,  by  T.  .B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia. 

ft3i~-  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Ask  for  "  Petersons'  Edition,"  and 
take  no  other.  Address  all  orders  and  remittances,  to  t/te publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA 


GEORGE   LIPPARD'S  WORKS, 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  No.  306  Chestnut  Street, 
Philadelphia,  have  just  published  an  entire  new,  complete,  and 
uniform  edition  of  all  the  celebrated  works  written  by  the  popular 
American  Historian  and  Novelist,  George  Lippard.  Every  Family 
and  every  Library  in  this  country,  should  have  in  it  a  set  of  this 
new  edition  of  his  works.  The  follow  ing  is  a  complete 

LIST    OF    GEORGE    LIPPARD'S    WORKS. 

THE  LEGENDS  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION. 
1776;  or,  WASHING-TON  AND  HIS  GEEERALb.  Uy  liw.rgo 
Lippard.  With  a  steel  Engraving  of  the  "Battle  of  Germantown,"  at  "  Chew's 
House."  Complete  in  ODD  large  octavo  volume,  price  $1.50  in  paper  cover,  or 
bound  in  morocco  cloth,  price  $'2.00. 

THE  QUAKER  CITY;  or,  THE  MONKS  OF  MONK 
HALL.  A  Romance  of  Philadelphia  Life,  Mystery,  and  Crime. 
By  George  ],i-.>pard.  \Vi;t  his  Portrait  and  Autograph.  Complete  in  one  large 
octavo  volume,  price  $1.50  in  paper  cover,  or  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  i  •'  -o  $2.00. 

PAUL  ARDENHEIM,  THE  MONK  OF  WICSAHIKON. 
A  Romance  of  the  American  Revolution,  1776.  By  George  Lip 
pard.  Illustrated.  Complete  in  one  largo  octavo  volume,  price  $1.50  in  paper  cover, 
or  hound  in  morocco  cloth,  price  $2.00. 

BLANCHE  OF  BRANDYWINE  ;  or,  SEPTEMBER  THE 
ELEVENTH,  1777.  B.V  George  Lizard.  A  Romance  of  the  revolution, 
as  well  as  of  the  i'oetry,  Legends,  and  History  of  the  Battle  of  Lrandywino.  Com 
plete  in  ono  large  octavo  volume,  price  £1.50  in  paper  cover,  or  bound  in  morocco 
cloth,  price  (2.00. 

THE  MYSTERIES  OF  FLORENCE;  or,  THE  CBIMUS 
AND  MYSTERIES  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  ALBAUONE. 
By  George  Lippard.  Complete  in  one  largo  octavo  volume,  price  $;.00  in  paper 
cover,  or  $2.00  in  cloth. 

WASHING-TON  AND  HIS  MEN.  Being  the  Second  Sc 
ries  of  the  Legends  of  the  American  Revolution,  1776.  By 

George  Lippard.     With  Illustrations.     Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper 
cover,  price  75  cents. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  A  PREACHER;  or,  THE  MYS 
TERIES  OF  THE  PULPIT.  By  George  Lippard.  AVith  Illustrations. 
Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  75  cents. 

THE  EMPIRE  CITY;  or,  NEW  YORK  BY  NIGHT 
AND  DAY.  It«  Aristocracy  and  its  Dollars.  By  George  Lippard.  Complete 
in  one  largo  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  7->  cents. 

THE  NAZARENE;  or,  THE  LAST  OF  THE  WASH 
ING-TONS.  By  George  Lippard.  A  Revelation  of  Philadelphia,  New  York, 
and  Washington.  Complete  in  one  larro  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  75  cents. 

THE  ENTRANCED  ;  or,  THE  WANDERER  OF  EIGH 
TEEN  CENTURIES,  containing  also,  Jesus  and  the  Poor,  the  Heart 
Broken,  etc.  By  George  Lippard.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  paper 
cover,  price  50  cents. 

THE  LEGENDS  OF  MEXICO.  By  George  Lippard.  Comprising 
Legends  and  Historical  Pictures  of  the  Camp  in  the  Wilderness;  The  inters  of 
Monterey;  The  Dead  Woman  of  Palo  Alto,  etc.  Complete  in  one  large  octavo 
Yuktine,  paper  cover,  price  50  cents. 

THE  BANK  DIRECTOR'S  SON.  A  Revelation  of  Life  in  a  Great 
City.  By  George  Lippard.  One  large  octavo  volume,  paper  cover,  price  -5  cents. 


bove  Books  are  for  sale  by  oil  Booksellers,  or  copies  of  either 
one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  or  a  complete  set  of  them,  will  be 
sent  at  once,  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre-paid,  or  free  of 
freight,  on  remitting  price  of  ones  wanted,  in  a  letter  to  the  Pablisherst 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


BY  AUTHOR  OF  "THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE." 


C.  ft.  fclELD'S  NEW  WORKS. 


IN  9  VOLUMES,  AT  $1.75  EACH ;  OR  $15.75  A  SET, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  306  Chestnut  Street, 
Philadelphia,  Pa.,  have  just  published  a  complete  and  uniform  edition 
of  all  the  new  and  celebrated  works  written  by  Mrs.  Catharine  A. 
Warfield,  the  well-known  and  popular  American  writer.  This  edition 
is  in  duodecimo  form,  is  printed  on  the  finest  of  white  paper,  is  complete 
in  'nine,  volumes,  and  each  volume  is  bound  in  the  very  best  manner, 
in  morocco  cloth,  with  a  full  gilt  back,  and  is  sold  at  the  low  price  of 
$1.75  a  volume,  or  $15.75  for  a  full  and  complete  set.  Every  Family, 
and  every  Library  in  this  Country,  should  have  in  it  a  set  of  this  beauti 
ful  edition  o/  the  complete  works  of  this  talented  and  gifted  American 
Authoress,  Mrs.  Catharine  A.  Warfield.  The  following  is  a  list  of 

MRS.  C.  A.  WARFIELD'S  NEW  WORKS. 

THE  CARDINAL'S  DAUGHTER, 
FERNE  FLEMING. 

MIRIAM'S  MEMOIRS, 

LADY  ERNESTINE;  or,  THE  ABSENT  LORD  OF  ROCHEFORTE, 
MONFORT  HALL, 

SEA  AND  SHORE, 
THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE, 

A  DOUBLE  WEDDING;  or,  HOW  SHE  WAS  WON, 
HESTER  HOWARD'S  TEMPTATION, 


Above  Books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  and  by  the  Pub 
lishers,  at  $1.75  each,  or  $15.75  for  a  complete  set  of  the  nine  volumes. 

$30"  Copies  of  either  one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  or  a  complete  set 
of  them,  will  be  sent  at  once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  prepaid, 
or  free  of  freight,  on  remitting  their  price  in  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 
T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


IRS.  EMMA  a  E.  K  SOUTH!  ORTES  WORKS. 


42  VOLUMES,  AT  $1.75  EACH ;  OR  $73.50  A  SET, 

ISHMAEL;  or,  IN  THE  DEPTHS.     (Being  "Self-Made.") 
SELF-RAISED  ;  or,  From  the  Depths.  Sequel  to  "  Ishmael." 
THE  MISSING  BRIDE;    or,   MIRIAM,  THE  AVENGER. 
VICTOR'S  TRIUMPH.     Sequel  to  "A  Beautiful  Fiend." 
A  BEAUTIFUL  FIEND;    or,  THROUGH  THE  FIRE. 
FAIR  PLAY;    or,   BRITOMARTE,   THE  MAN-HATER. 
HOW  HE  WON  HER.     A  Sequel  to  "  Fair  Play." 
THE  CHANGED  BRIDES;  or,  Winning  Her  Way. 

THE  BRIDE'S  FATE.  Sequel  to  "The  Changed  Brides." 
CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE;   or,  Hallow  Eve  Mystery. 
TRIED  FOR  HER  LIFE.    A  Sequel  to  "Cruel  as  the  Grave." 
THE  CHRISTMAS  GUEST;  or,  The  Crime  and  the  Curse. 

LADY  OF  THE  ISLE;   or,   THE   ISLAND   PRINCESS. 
THE  LOST  HEIR  OF  LINLITHGOW;    or,  The  Brothers. 
A  NOBLE  LORD.     Sequel  to  "Lost  Heir  of  Linlithgow." 
THE  FAMILY  DOOM;  or,   THE  SIN  OF  A  COUNTESS. 

THE  MAIDEN  WIDOW.     Sequel  to  "  Family  Doom." 
THE  GIPSY'S  PROPHECY;  or,  The  Bride  of  an  Evening. 
THE  FORTUNE  SEEKER;  or,  Astrea,  The  Bridal  Day. 
THE  THREE  BEAUTIES;  or,  SHANNONDALE. 

ALLWORTH  ABBEY  ;  or,   EUDORA. 
FALLEN  PRIDE;  or,  THE   MOUNTAIN  GIRL'S  LOVE. 
INDIA;    or,  THE  PEARL  OF  PEARL  RIVER. 
VIVIA;   or,  THE  SECRET  OF  POWER. 

THE  CURSE  OF  CLIFTON. 

THE  DISCARDED  DAUGHTER;   or,  The  Children  of  the  Isle. 
THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW;    or,   MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 
THE  PRINCE  OF  DARKNESS;    or,  HICKORY  HALL. 

THE   TWO   SISTERS;   or,   Virginia  and  Magdalene. 
THE   FATAL   MARRIAGE;    or,    ORVILLE    DEVILLE. 
THE   WIDOW'S   SON;    or,    LEFT   ALONE. 
THE   BRIDAL   EVE;    or,    ROSE    ELMER. 
THE   MYSTERY    OF   DARK    HOLLOW. 
BRIDE  OF  LLEWELLYN.  THE  SPECTRE  LOVER. 

THE  DESERTED  WIFE.  THE  WIFE'S  VICTORY. 

THE  LOST  HEIRESS.  THE  ARTIST'S  LOVE. 

THE  HAUNTED  HOMESTEAD.     LOVE'S  LABOR  WON. 

THE  FATAL  SECRET.  RETRIBUTION. 

%£?*  Above  books  are  each  in  duodecimo  form,  printed  on  the  jincst 
white  paper,  and  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  gilt  back,  price  $1.75  each, 
or  $73.50  for  a  full  set.  They  unll  be  found  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers  ; 
or  copies  of  any  one  or  all  of  them,  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  anyplace, 
at  once,  postage  pre-paid,  or  free  of  freight,  on  remitting  price  to 
T.  3.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

306  CHESTNUT  STEEET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


'STERLING  SERIES'  OF  M  &  GOOD  BOOKS, 

THEY  ARE  THE  CHEAPEST  NOVELS  IN  THE  WORLD. 
Price  $1,00  each  in  morocco  cloth;  or  75_ cents  each  in  paper  cover. 

"PETERSONS'    STERLING    SERIES"    OF  NEW  AND    GOOD   BOOKS, 

are  each  issued  in  one  large  octavo  volume,  all  of  one  size,  and  in  uniform  style,  and 
are  meeting  with  great  success,  as  the  series  contain  some  of  the  best  and  most  popular 
novels  ever  issued.  The  volumes  are  handy  to  hold,  and  are  bound  in  handsome 
Morocco  cloth,  with  new  designs,  in  gold  and  black,  on  side  and  hack,  and  each  book 
is  sold  at  the  uniform  and  remarkaMg  low  price  of  ONE  DOLLAR  A  COPY  in  this  style, 


contains  as  much  reading  matter  as  is  usually  issued  in  a  §1.50,  §1.75,  or  $2.00  volume. 

PETERSONS'  •  STERLING  SERIES'  OF  GOOD  NOVELS  JUST  REAM. 

They  are  the  Clieapest  Novels  in  the  World. 
Price  $1.00  each  in  morocco  cloth;  or  75  cents  each  in  paper  cover. 

The  following  works  have  already  been  issued  in  this  scries,  and  a  new  one  vnU  fol 
low  every  two  weeks  in  the,  same  s/yle,  same  size,  and  at  the  same  low  price,  making 
this  series  of  novels  the  cheapest  ever  published.  The  following  are  their  names: 

CHABLES  O'MALLEY,  The  Irish  Dragoon.    By  Charles  Lever. 

CYBILL  A.     A  Love  Story.    By  author  of  "  The  Initials." 

THE  FLIRT.    By  Mrs.  Grey,  author  of  "  The  Gambler's  Wife." 

EDINA.     A  Love  Story.    By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood. 

HABBY  LOBBEQUEB.    With  His  Confessions.    By  Charles  Lever. 

AUBOBA  FLOYD.    A  Love  Story.    By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 

COBINNE  ;  or,  ITALY.     By  Madame  De  Stael. 

POPPING  THE  QUESTION.    By  author  of  "  The  Jilt." 

FIBST  AND  TBTJE  LOVE.    By  George  Sand. 

THE  COQUETTE.    A  Charming  Love  Story.    By  author  of  " Misserimus." 

THE  MYSTEBY.    A  Love  Story.    By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood. 

THE  MAN  WITH  FIVE  "WIVES.    By  Alexander  Dumas. 

THE  JEALOUS  WIFE.    By  Miss  Julia  Pardoe. 

THACKEBAY'S  IBISH  SKETCH  BOOK.    Illustrat-d. 

THE  WIFE'S  TBIALS.     A  Love  Story.    By  Miss  Julia  Punloe. 

PICKWICK  ABBOAD.     Illustrated.     By  George  W.  M.  .Reynolds. 

THE  DEAD  SECBET.    By  Wilkie  Collins. 

CONFESSIONS  OF  A  PBETTY  WOMAN.    By  Miss  Pardoe. 

SYLVESTEB  SOUND.     By  author  of  "  Valentine  Vox." 

BASIL ;  or,  The  Crossed  Path.    By  Wilkie  Collins. 

THE  BIVAL  BEAUTIES.    By  Miss  Julia  Pardoe. 

THE  STEWABD.    By  author  of  "  Valentine  Vox." 

MABBYING  FOB  MONEY.     By  Mrs.  Mackenzie  Daniels. 

THE  LOVE  MATCH.     A  Love  Story.     By  Henry  Cockton. 

FLIBTATIONS  IN  AMEBICA;  or,  High  Life  in  New  York. 

WHITEFBIABS  ;  or,  The  Days  of  Charles  the  Second. 

HIDE  AND  SEEK.    A  Novel.     By  Wilkie  Collins. 

XJEJ3*  The  above  books  are  75  cents  each  in  paper  cover,  or  51.00  each  in  cloth, 

Jf£~  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  copies  of  any  one,  or  more,  of 

OK  of  them,  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  on  remit! ing  their  price  to 

T.  B,  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

3OG  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pw 


PETERSC 

Ml!  SERIES'  OF  NEW  I 

ABE  THE  CHEAPEST  BOOKS 

Each  are  in  one  Volume,  in  Red  or  Blue  Yellum,  Gold 


Something  entirely  new  in  literature  is  a  series  of  choice  wo 
lishing  by  T.  B.  Peterson  <&  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa.,  under  i/u 
DOLLAR  SERIES  OF  GOOD  NOVELS,"  and  which  are  selling  at  a  muc.. 
such  books  have  ever  before  been  published  at  in  America.    Every  volumt 
will  be  in  duodecimo  form,  and  complete  in  itself,  and  each  one  of  them  will  contain, 
as  much  reading  matter  as  is  generally  given  in  a  $1.75  or  $2.00  book.      A  very 
elegant  binding  in  red  or  blue  vellum,  embossed  with  black  and,  gold,  has  been 
specially  designed  for  "Petersons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good  Novels"  and  their  low  price 
and  attractiveness  are  commanding  for  them  a  very  large  sale,  as  they  are  the  cheapest 
and  most  beautiful  series  of  books  at  the  price  ever  published. 

PETERSONS'  "DOLLAR  SERIES"  OF  GOOD  NOVELS  JUST  REAM. 

They  are  the  Cheapest  Books  in  the  World. 

Price  $1,00  each,  bound  in  Bed  or  Blue  Vellum  Cloth,  Gold  and  Black. 

The  following  books  have  already  been  issued^  in  this  series,  and  a  new  one  ivill  be 
published  evzry  month,  in  the  same  style,  same  size,  and  at  the  same  low  price,  making 
this  series  of  novels  the  cheapest  ever  published.  The  following  are  their  names: 

COUNTRY  QUARTERS.  A  Charming  Love  Story.  By  the  Countess 
of  Blessington.  Being  the  first  volume  of  "Petersons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good 
Novels."  Bound  in  blue  vellum  cloth,  embossed  with  black  and  gold. 

MY  SON'S  "WIFE.  A  book  of  books,  and  a  strong,  bright,  interesting,  and 
well-written  novel.  By  the  author  of  "  Caste."  Being  the  second  volume  of  '•  Poter- 
BOUS'  Dollar  Series  of  Good  Novels."  Bound  in  red  vellum  cloth,  gold  ami  black. 

THE  HEIRESS  IN  THE  FAMILY.  By  Mrs.  Mackenzie  Daniels, 
author  of  "Marrying  for  Money."  Being  the  third  volume  of  "  Petersons'  Dollar 
Series  of  Good  Novels."  Bound  in  blue  vellum  cloth,  gold  and  black. 

SARATOGA.  An  Indian  Tale  of  Frontier  Life,  and  a  True  Picture  of  Saratoga 
as  it  was  in  1787.  By  a  noted  American  Author.  Being  the  fourth  volume  of  "  Peter 
sons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good  Novels."  Bound  in  red  vellum  cloth,  gold  and  black. 

SELF-LOVE ;  or,  The  Afternoon  of  Single  Life.  Prospects  in 
Middle  Age,  Love,  Hope,  and  Single  and  Married  Life  contrasted.  Being  the  fifth 
volume  of  "Petersons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good  Novels."  Bound  in  blue  vellum  cloth, 
embossed  with  black  and  gold. 

THE  MAN  OF  THE  "WORLD.  By  William  North.  For  pnrem-s« 
of  style,  elegance  of  diction,  and  force  of  thought,  this  work  has  seldom,  if  evr, 
been  surpassed.  Being  the  sixth  volume  of  "  Petersons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good 
Novels."  Bound  in  red  vellum  cloth,  gold  and  black. 

THE  QUEEN'S  FAVORITE  ;  or,  The  Price  of  a  Crown.    An 

Historical  Itomance  of  tho  Keign  of  King  Don  Juan,  in  the  Fifteenth  Century. 
Being  the  seventh  volume  of  "Petersons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good  Novels."  Bound  in 
bluo  vellum  cloth,  gold  and  black. 

THE  CAVALIER.  An  Historical  Novel.  By  G.  P.  R.  James,  author  of 
"Lord  Montagu's  Page,"  "The  Man  in  Black,"  etc.  Being  the  fighth  volume  of 

"Petersons'  Dollar  Series  of  Good  Novels."     Bound  in  blue  vellum,  geld  and  black. 
4£iP" Above  books  are  bound  in  Red  or  Blue  Vellum,  Gold  and  Black,  price  Sl.OU  each. 

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all  of  them,  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  on  rnniiling  tht.ir  price,  to 

T,  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

SOG  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


STERLInG  SEnlE!i1- 


COMPLETE  FOES. 


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Price  $1,00  each  in  more^  pliblished  an  entire  new,  complete,  and 
the  works  written  by  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens, 


^^rcss.     This  edition  is  in  duodecimo  form, 

are  meeting  with  gre-^c  finest  of  white  paper,  and  is  complete  in  twenty- 
EScTc/o/"^  and  each  vo]ume  is  bound  in  the  very  best  manner,  in 
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Library  in  this  country,  should  have  in  it  a  complete  set  of  this  ncio 
and  beautiful  edition  of  the  works  of  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens.     The  fol 
lowing  arc  the  names  of  the  volumes: 

NORSTON'S  REST. 
BERTHA'S  ENGAGEMENT. 

BELLEHOOD  AND  BONDAGE;  or,  Bought  with  a  Price. 
LORD  HOPE'S  CHOICE;  or,  More  Secrets  Than  One. 
THE  OLD  COUNTESS,     Sequel  to  "Lord  Hope's  Choice." 
THE  REIGNING   BELLE. 
PALACES  AND  PRISONS;  or,  The  Prisoner  of  the  Bastile. 

A  NOBLE  WOMAN;  or,  A  Gulf  Between  Them. 
THE  CURSE  OF  GOLD  ;  or,  The  Bound  Girl  and  Wife's  Trials. 
MABEL'S  MISTAKE;  or,  The  Lost  Jewels. 
WIVES  AND  WIDOWS;  or,  The  Broken  Life. 

THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD;  or,  Pet  From  the  Poor  House. 
THE  REJECTED  WIFE;  or,  The  Ruling  Passion. 
THE  WIFE'S  SECRET;  or,  Gillian. 
THE  HEIRESS;  or,  The  Gipsy's  Legacy. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS. 
SILENT  STRUGGLES;  or,  Barbara  Stafford. 
RUBY  GRAY'S  STRATEGY;  or,  Married  by  Mistake. 
FASHION  AND  FAMINE. 

MARRIED  IN  HASTE. 
DOUBLY  FALSE  ;  or,  Alike  and  Not  Alike. 
THE  GOLD  BRICK. 
MARY  DERWENT. 

J£33~  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  JJooksellcrs  of  $1.75  e'fh,  or 
$40.25  for  a  complete  set  of  the  tivcnfy-t/iree  volumes.  Copies  of  either 
one  or  more  of  the  above  books,  or  a.  complete  set  of  them,  wilt  be  neat  at 
once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  prepaid,  or  free  of  freight,  on- 
remitting  their  price  in  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 

T.   B.   PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STKEET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


unnoTAiiT 

NORM  ON 


MRS  ANNS  STEPHENS 


